Never Never
by Josephinee
Summary: Oh, how the mighty had fallen. In love. RW/SM
1. Chapter 1

Hi everyone,

It's been ages. But this time I've got a story that's as good as finished, so hopefully updates won't be slow.

 **Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter.**

* * *

 **JUNE 2024 – S**

His loveliest of first meetings had always been besmirched by impure circumstances.

When he first met Olivia Parkinson – Pansy's niece – he'd worked his way through his father's liquor cabinet and was, consequently, off his face. When he'd seen her standing in the dining room, looking bored out of her skull, he'd walked up to her, asked if she wanted to see something of which the beauty lies mostly within, and she'd seemed intrigued. She'd followed him to his father's chambers and marvelled at its interior. Everything about it was quite fancy, naturally, as only the best was ever good enough for Draco Malfoy. This is knowledge Draco liked to emphasise, knowledge Scorpius learned by heart, and knowledge the latter somehow forgot by some sick joke of the universe (and a lot of Ogden's Finest) when he showed the cabinet to Olivia – an event sequenced by the loss of his virginity to her on top of it.

When he'd first met Stephano he was eleven and trying to steal his father's friend's Flor de Cano cigars. Scorpius had opened the door swiftly, catching Stephano red-handed, made a vicious comment, and yet the good-looking boy's face did not betray the sense of humiliation Scorpius was after. Instead Stephano had stoically asked, "What's it to you?" and his demeanour had hit so close to home Scorpius was initially dumbstruck. When having gathered his wits, he'd said, "My father's Punch cigars are more expensive. Let's go get those." Stephano had muttered something like "brilliant" or "wicked" (the pair of them usually opted for "brilliant" when recounting the anecdote, as they both found "wicked" to be a rather mediocre word). That was that. Friendship set in stone. Or cigars (which had turned out to be pretty awful).

When he'd first met his parents – well, he didn't remember that, obviously. But since the general consensus is probably that meeting the people whose lovemaking resulted in one's existence is lovely by default, it ought to be mentioned nonetheless. Scorpius felt as though he had less childhood memories than other people did, and more importantly, didn't regard them with corresponding fondness. Maybe that was because he nor his family cared much for sentimentality, or that his father had been in a perpetual state of misery and self-loathing until ten years after the war. More likely was that it had to do with Scorpius's unwillingness to come out as a baby, which had caused his mother to slip into a short coma and my father to nearly jump off a bridge. It'd been all over the papers. Headlines, even. Scorpius always liked to believe that his parents forgave him for the near death experience, but never managed to get over the ensuing scandal.

When he'd first met Rose Weasley – well, scratch that. When he first met the _real_ Rose Weasley, not the perfectly politically correct and nice and controlled version of her, he'd developed an all-consuming, all-overpowering desire to get into her knickers that he never would've thought possible had it not, in fact, occurred. This meeting – or should he call it a revelation? – had happened mid-October in Seventh Year. He remembered sitting in a secluded corner of the library at a time pushing curfew, cozying up to a Slytherin sixth year named Adelaine Harper. She'd been laughing loudly at his commentary on the new batch of Hufflepuffs and had started to lean in a little bit more when they were suddenly interrupted by a girl he'd always disliked and begrudgingly admired equally. She'd gifted them the most withering of glares before launching into a five-minute-tirade on their depravedness, the sanctity of the library, the sanctity of _silence_ , the sanctity of Merlin knows what. Scorpius had been stunned into complete incomprehension: he'd never seen her lose her cool before, _ever_ , and he'd been so fully struck by the flush on her freckled face and the spark in her eyes that Adelaine Harper was instantly forgotten. A set of inappropriate images had wormed their way into his brain upon seeing her like this, never to be disregarded. He'd walked to his dorm that night, bewildered and turned on, desperate for a cold shower.

He never stopped wondering just _what_ had made her lose her cool back then.

And so, he never stopped trying to get it out of her. Tonight, it seemed, things were finally swinging his way. As it happened, Rose Weasley seemed to be _drunk_. And a drunk Rose Weasley might be a little more open to soul-searching than a sober, brain-functioning-at-a-1000-miles-per-hour Rose Weasley.

"Weasley," he tutted when he found her next to the punch, " _what_ have you been spiking your drink with?"

She turned to him with (clearly faux) annoyance and mumbled dispassionately, "Nothing that you could make you less irritating."

He smirked. He was up for this. He was _always_ up for this.

"I see not even the shine of a terrifically decorated graduation party can diminish your ever present charm."

"Well spotted," she dead-panned.

Then she turned her heel on him – slightly less graciously than usual – and walked out of the Great Hall. She really had mastered the non-caring act perfectly, he had to give her that. In fact, sometimes he wondered if she'd taken notes from him, the bloke who'd practically been born and raised to perform it.

He didn't let her out of his sight and followed her right out the Great Hall.

"Weasley," he repeated, grabbing her arm as they stood before the staircase.

She sighed. " _Malfoy_. What?"

"I think the time has come to finally lift the veil off of this year's mystery," he announced.

She crossed her arms defiantly. "I think not."

"Don't be a spoilsport."

"Don't be a whiny tosser."

"Don't go hurting my feelings now..."

"That would require for you to have actual feelings, which – " she gave him a meaningful once-over " – you obviously don't have." She paused for a second, and then added, "I can't believe I just wasted my breath on that sentence."

"Too unnecessarily harsh?" He inquired drily, cocking an eyebrow.

"Too self-evident," she replied, just as drily, also cocking an eyebrow.

He took the glass she was still holding out of her hand. "Booze brings out your mean streak, Weasley."

" _You_ bring out my mean streak," she said pointedly, and lurched for her glass. He did not to waver, however, and held it over his head. "Give that back!"

She was very close now, he realised when a wave of her perfume hit him.

" _Never_ ," he said, rather infantile, causing her to reach out again and stretch almost her entire body against his. Sweet Merlin, did he want to ravish her. He wanted to grab waist, put her on the nearest table, kiss her senseless –

"Really, Malfoy, it's like you're not even _trying_ ," Rose grinned triumphantly, waving the glass _and_ her wand in his face.

He snapped back to reality at once. He debated taking out his own wand for a moment, but decided against it. She could have her glass. He just wanted her full, undivided attention.

"Pray tell," he began. "To what do I deserve such character assassination?"

" _What_?"

"You insult me every chance you get."

Her face morphed from glee into bafflement. "So do you!"

"I _never_ insult myself."

She rolled her eyes. "That we all know, Malfoy."

She did kind of have a point though, somewhere. He hadn't been particularly nice to her in the past seven years. He'd been rather rude on multiple occasions, in fact. Now that he'd come of age, he was man enough to understand the machinations behind that behaviour: Rose Weasley was the girl who'd never shown him the slightest kind of interest, and never would if he didn't force it out of her. They'd never interacted much (despite her blossoming friendship with – much to his chagrin – his best mate), but when they did, it was usually on account of a sneering comment from Scorpius. As she'd rarely displayed anything more than a distant sort of irritation, he'd kept his digs mostly to himself, however. It was only when she'd blown up that day in the library that he'd decided the trouble of dismantling her utter lack of interest in him was worth it.

Since then, he'd been pestering her a whole lot more. He felt like a twelve-year-old sometimes, striving for her attentions and going about it in such a ridiculous and uncharacteristic way, but unfortunately, that was what she generally reduced him to. Sometimes it led to decent exchange of thoughts (they'd found common ground on Professor Goldstein's incompetence and once had a lengthy discussion on the different uses of a Bad-Boogey Hex), but those occurrences were rare.

"So, what then?" He pressed on. "You hate me because I _benignly_ insult you every now and then?"

She gave him a challenging look. "Hate implies an investment of sorts. I'm not invested, so."

"You're not answering my question."

"Fine," she huffed exasperatedly. He checked if her vexation was genuine, but she made no move to actually leave. Instead, she started rattling, "You're incredibly self-involved, egotistical, conceited, offensive for no plausible reason, manipulative, and oh, I forget! A _Slytherin_."

That stung, if just a little.

If the girl you intensely lusted after regarded you the way she'd regard an insect – with disgust that would be tangible if only one gave it a little more thought – well, that ought to hurt. He wasn't _that_ bad. He was a _Malfoy_ , sure, which did entail Slytherin traits by default, but really, his character was not _that_ problematic.

When he'd gathered his wits, he cleared his throat and pushed out, "I'm quite certain there were some tautologies in there."

She blinked.

Then she started to laugh.

He was stunned for a moment. Her laughter wasn't exactly a foreign sound (apparently Louis Weasley, Rose's best mate, was a very hilarious human being), but the fact that he was the one to elicit it this time stumped him momentarily. He invoked frowns and eye rolls and raised eyebrows and sighs when it came to her – not laughter. Attempting to ascertain whether this laughter was of a sincere kind and not of a derisive one, he narrowed his eyes and observed the object of his confusion. After a thorough investigation of her face – her nose was scrunched up, her mouth wide, her dimples present – he was fairly confident she wasn't laughing _at_ him, but with him. She looked exactly like she did when that Louis bloke said something witty.

So he allowed himself a slight lopsided grin and decided to push his luck.

"Fancy another drink, Weasley?"

Composing herself, she looked at the glass she'd just downed. Her mind was made up rather quickly. "Yes."

He walked back into the Great Hall, where the festivities were ongoing. He kept his eyes on the table with the punch so as to not attract anyone else's attention and headed straight back when he'd refilled (and spiked, naturally) two glasses. In the corner of his eye, he saw Scarlet Rosier – a fellow Slytherin who'd played a huge part in the blossoming sexuality of 90 percent of the male Hogwarts population – making her way towards him, but he managed to walk away unscathed and undisturbed. Rose was waiting for him ( _for him_ ), and she wasn't the type to be left hanging. When he slipped through the enormous entrance gates, he found her sitting on the lower steps of the stairwell, twirling a strand of hair around her finger and her stare glazed over. He silently sat down next to her and offered her the glass.

She snapped out of her reverie. "Cheers."

He nodded and took a sip. It burned his throat.

"Malfoy?" She turned to him. "Can I ask you a question and count on you to answer without the obligatory mocking?"

Suddenly he noticed how close she was. She was close enough for him to count the freckles spread out on her nose. She was close enough for him to note that her canine tooth was somewhat askew. She was close enough for him to discern the triangle of small birthmarks just under her collarbone. She was close enough for him to look down at the cleavage her dress presented him.

His mouth ran very, very dry.

Then he remembered she'd said something that required a response. When he'd reclaimed his voice and his cunning, he drawled, "Only if I get to ask my question too."

"Okay," she said with some trepidation. "Okay."

He couldn't believe his good fortune tonight. If he were the sort of person to put trust in karma, he'd be thinking hard and deep about what he'd done to deserve Weasley's going along.

"Are you sad? Nostalgic? Scared?"

 _What?_

After swallowing down the impromptu discomfort that'd hit him, he dumbly brought out, "What for?"

"About leaving Hogwarts," she clarified, seemingly oblivious to his tensing up. Her eyes had grown big and inquisitive, as if to coax the truth right out of him.

"Are _you_?"

"Returning questions doesn't make for nice conversation, Malfoy," she scowled.

"Neither does sentimental probing."

" _Well_ ," she pronounced with emphasis, scowl still firm in place, " _I'm_ sad and nostalgic and scared. And drunk, obviously, since nothing other than that could explain me telling _you_ this. Except being hit by a Bludger, maybe."

He regarded her with something he could only call mild fascination. "I take it a causal relationship exists between your inebriation and your feelings, then."

"I just wanted to have a little fun and forget that this is one of my last days here," she sighed, emptying her glass once more. He had to admire the rate she was keeping up. "But then, of course, you accosted me. And now I'm here. Spending these crucial moments with a Wizard who undoubtedly does nothing but kiss his mirror and charm his hair every day."

"What a flattering picture you paint there," he all but snapped. "As per usual, I am warmed by your words."

"Again, _you have no feelings_ ," she said, slowly, as if speaking to a child.

He felt a distinct desire to hex her, but that was quickly suppressed by his other, considerably more intense desire to snog the daylights out of her. If only she could just stop spewing nonsense – if only she could just stop _talking_ , really – or get a very effective personality transplant, they'd be good. Except, he realised with dread, he wouldn't think her half as interesting without all the witticisms and cutting remarks and colossal brainpower.

"Weasley," he said rather softly, determined to get back into her good graces, "I have feelings. In fact, I am not too wretched to admit that I am not entirely comfortable leaving the castle that has been my home since I was eleven. I do not look forward to spending all day with my parents." He _was_ too wretched to admit, however, that his future so far was an abstract concept he couldn't seem to map out. Or that the idea of moving back into the Manor for good, where icy silence and stilted politeness triumphed over anything resembling human affection, _completely_ filled him with anxiety.

Visibly thrown off by his sudden change of demeanour, Rose averted her gaze to the ground. Adopting his solemn tone, she eventually asked, "Are they that bad, your parents?"

"No," Scorpius looked at the ground too, contemplatively. "No, it's just... They seem to be stuck in a continuing state of dissatisfaction. They're both nice enough – well, I mean, my father's not nice in the strictest sense of the word, yet I can see he cares about me – but I don't think they're cut out for each other. Or at least my mother's not cut out for my father, because she has no idea how to deal with his bouts of post-war melancholia." Then, the strangest idea came over him. "I think _you'_ d like him, my father."

"You're Draco Malfoy's son, right?" Her gaze turned vehemently searching, as if trying to figure out if he'd lost all of his marbles.

Ignoring her rhetorical question, he elaborated, "I think you'd find him hilarious. He's a pretentious prat – "

"Apple, tree – "

" _But_ ," he gave her a sharp look, "he hits the mark a lot. Verbally, I mean. He has a way with words."

"Yes, words like 'Mudblood' do suggest grand and marvellous eloquence."

His look now turned murderous. _Bitch_ , he thought.

"Bitch," he said.

She smiled brightly. Then she seemed to remember that the conversation had been rather serious – that she'd been the one to initiate that kind of interaction – and grew earnest once more.

"I'm sorry," she muttered. "Do continue."

An apology was always a great time to collect deliveries on promises. Scorpius thus figured this was the ideal moment to strike. On the one hand, it'd piss her off (which, quite frankly, she fully deserved); on the other hand, she'd be obliged to tell him (though – she was a Ravenclaw. Ravenclaws got, unfortunately, less starry-eyed over honour codes than those generally idiotic Gryffindolts. Why could she not have followed in her family's footsteps? Why were her genes defected? A less shrewd and distrusting Rose Weasley would've made his life considerably less frustrating.)

"No, no," he shook his head laconically. "I wish to ask my question."

She immediately looked alarmed. It took all of his might to reign in a full-blown smirk.

"What made you blow up in the library all those months ago?"

She had obviously anticipated the question, as she seemed resigned rather than surprised. She sighed ostentatiously, to emphasise her feelings on the enquiry. She needn't have bothered – he could read her well enough, especially when she didn't wish to mask any emotions. Sometimes, he could practically _feel_ the vexation radiating from her pores.

"I _knew_ it," she uttered.

"You promised," he reminded her helpfully.

She narrowed her eyes and pushed herself up.

"We were having a nice conversation that showed you just might have some emotion locked up somewhere far away, and now you're ruining it. Malfoy, you're a _conversation_ _ruiner_."

"While that is the worst of insults indeed, I won't let you distract me. Out with it. I didn't just spill my guts for nothing. _Don't_ ," he touched her wrist softly when she made to turn, " _leave_."

"It just isn't your business," she said in a clipped tone, but halted her movements nevertheless.

"Well, you made it my business by misdirecting your rage at _me_."

" _Mis_ direct is not a verb I would use. You deserve all the rage in the world."

 _Why on earth did he want to sleep with this impossible witch?_ He stood up as well, his figure now flush with hers."I'm listening."

"To an encore of my hissy fit?"

"Weasley. Tell me what brought the hissy fit on in the first place. Now."

He stared at her, hard, and brought his face closer to hers in an attempt to assert some misguided authority. She haughtily tilted her chin and returned the stare, equally hard.

" _No_."

"Weasley – "

And he didn't get to finish that, because in an ultimate act of defiance she surged forward and pressed her lips to his. A reality that took him three whole seconds to catch up on.

Rose Weasley was kissing him. Rose Weasley was _kissing_ him. _Rose Weasley_ was kissing _him_.

Only it wasn't soft and pliant as he'd always imagined it would be, because she was quite literally shutting him up. When he didn't – _couldn't_ – respond, she sensed his dismay and stepped back, eyes wide and horrified.

"Okay." Rose turned an intense shade of red. "Okay."

Before he could even react and without so much as another glance, she stalked towards the Great Hall.

He watched her go, tiny jolts of disarray jumping from synapse to synapse in his brain. He'd been kissed a thousand times before. He himself had kissed a thousand times before. Why in Merlin's name had his muscles short-circuited _this_ time? Dumbly touching his lips with his fingers, he mulled over the one million dollar question. In the end, he could only conclude the following: there was no way in hell this mishap would take place twice. Next time, he'd make bloody sure Rose knew what his true intentions were. Next time, he'd be smart enough to kiss her back.

Next time, he'd be as impure as he could possibly get.

* * *

 **JULY 2024 – R**

"Oh, _finally_ ," Lily squealed. "Hot bloke coming in!" Then, after an unsubtle stretch of the neck, "Correction, _two_ hot blokes coming in!"

Rolling her eyes ostentatiously, Rose checked the entrance. Comprehension dawned on her the instant a blob of highly blond hair entered her field of vision. The fact that it was accompanied by a cashmere jumper, an emerald-coloured robe being handed to the lady in the cloakroom, a lofty smirk, and a dark-haired best friend sharing said smirk, well, that settled it.

She attempted to hide her rising panic with an embarrassingly high-pitched chuckle. "Lily?"

Pointedly, Lily replied, " _What_? Don't you dare ruining my glee, you frigid little twit, or I will –"

"That's _Scorpius_ bloody _Malfoy_ and Stephano Zabini you're talking about," Rose interrupted her. She figured she got the intonation of disgust just right. She'd pat herself on the back – if only she could just _unfreeze_.

Lily's mouth turned into an apprehensive 'O'. She looked over her shoulder. The boys had relocated themselves to – where else – a bar stool, and were currently ordering what appeared to be two very fancy glasses of Firewhiskey.

"Dear Merlin," she said, not taking her gaze off of them for even half a second, "I can't believe this. They've changed, haven't they? Tell me they've changed."

Rose took a sip from her Butterbeer and said in what she hoped was a casual tone, "Nope, Lily. They haven't changed since you've last seen them... Which was a month ago."

"They _have_. Especially Scorpius! I mean, come on, I would've noticed them a lot more otherwise back in Hogwarts!"

"But you did!" She pointed out sharply. "I remember you practically drooling over him that one time Slytherin won the Quidditch Cup and he took off his gear for all the world to see."

"He didn't take off _all_ of his clothes, Rose," Lily protested. Throwing another glance in said boy's direction, she added, " _Unfortunately_."

"Thank Merlin. His chest alone was enough to blind me. Imagine his legs soaking up that much sun too."

"He's not _that_ pale."

"Yes, he is," Rose said with conviction. "Also, must you do this?"

"Do _what_?"

"Subject me to this… desperate, feeble attempt at glorifying Scorpius Malfoy's mediocre facial structure and ashen complexion?"

It was distracting. If there was anything Rose did not need, it was a reminder of Scorpius Malfoy's looks. She was quite aware of them as it was, thanks. The bloke had cheekbones to cut something up and eyes so piercing and bright it almost hurt to look at them.

" _You_ , Rose Weasley," Lily tutted, narrowing her eyes, "don't recognise hotness even if it hits you in the face. Which explains why you ever went out with that Cowell ponce. Now – another glass of wine?"

"No, I'm good."

Though she was anxious to loosen up her now extremely tense shoulders, she couldn't risk having another damned drink. Look where it got her into last time at Graduation: her hands were two seconds shy of _Malfoy's trousers_. Obviously, alcohol fuelled insanity. She just could not, _under any circumstances_ , feed that beast again.

"You think we should say hello?" Lily asked, nodding towards the pair. They'd just made their way to the pool table.

Thanking her lucky stars that Malfoy and Stephano hadn't spotted them yet, Rose vigorously shook her head. "Absolutely not."

"Weren't you friendly with Zabini?"

"Sure," she replied, smoothing her tone into nonchalance, "but Malfoy's obnoxiousness outweighs Stephano's niceness. I say we go somewhere else!"

"Too late," Lily grinned brightly.

And indeed, Rose's lucky stars had turned particularly unlucky. Both blokes were now looking straight at them, leaning against the pool table, Stephano smiling slightly and Malfoy with an upturned eyebrow. Stephano uncrossed his arms to beckon the girls, but Malfoy's hands remained in his pockets. He looked exceptionally bored, as if to say _entertain me plebians_.

Because of course.

Thing was – in case this was not yet clear – Rose didn't really like Scorpius. On a personal level. He was an arrogant shit, most of the time. Unfortunately, lately, some cognitive dissonance had come into play: the lad also happened to be very, very attractive, and very, very smart. While she could ignore the former (… _mostly_ ), she was somewhat plagued by the latter.

To make matters worse, the last conversation she had with the lad had made her… sympathetic. A bit. For each image of a housemate wailing (Scorpius moving on after one date), a first-year blubbering (Scorpius docking house points because a spell was not performed well enough), a Gryffindor fuming (Scorpius beating them at Quidditch with dirty tricks) – for each of those, a new kind had started to pop up: Scorpius admitting that the idea of moving back into the Manor scared him. He had seemed pretty honest when he had told her this, and the memory of that disquieted her.

Then again, she reminded herself, a tragic childhood did not justify him being such an arsehole to everyone all the time. It was too much of a cliché for her to fall for, really.

Either way, with Lily already bouncing off, Rose reckoned she had little to no choice. She briefly considered running out, but rejected the idea on grounds of dignity loss. Instead, she schooled her features into the most blasé expression she could muster and strutted towards them. Malfoy trained his gaze on her the whole way through.

"Hey," Stephano kissed her cheek.

Malfoy copied the gesture, smirking softly when his lips touched the side of her mouth. She, in return, shot him a death glare.

"You here for a drink?" He inquired, eyes never leaving hers. He probably thought he was being intense or something, the prat.

"Surprisingly, we are indeed in a bar to have a drink," Rose smiled sweetly. Malfoy rolled his eyes, which prompted her to add, "but not for long. We actually – "

"Really, Rose?" Lily interfered, the trollop. "We're celebrating! It's not like we have a curfew today, now do we?"

Silently, Rose promised herself to never take out this sixteen-year-old harpy with her ever again.

"What are we celebrating?" Stephano and Malfoy asked simultaneously.

"Rose got her apprenticeship at the Department of International Cooperation!"

Rose also promised herself to alert aunt Ginny to Lily's "alarming" drinking habits, to her "countless" dalliances with gentlemen of various ages, and, of course, to her "increasingly" slacking studying habits.

Stephano, having known of her career plans, congratulated her warmly, "That's great. I know you really wanted that."

"Well, what do you know," Malfoy, having not known of her career plans, drawled, "Guess we'll be seeing a lot of each other then."

The look she gave him must have been sheer panic. " _What_?"

"Calm down," he said, after a few pregnant seconds of silence. "I got one at Magical Law Enforcement."

How typical. Implying something quite clearly and then pushing her into the stereotypical role of the hysterical female, imagining things. Already she was ready to strangle him (good. _Good_. At least strangling was an activity very far outside of the realm of, for instance, _kissing_.)

"Well done," Lily smiled. "You blokes are here for a celebratory drink as well then?"

While Stephano started saying "Yes" (like normal people), Malfoy noted, "We don't have _celebratory_ drinks. We just have drinks."

Malfoy's sentences always ended in periods or ellipses, never in, say, exclamation marks. He spoke in a way that was weirdly enough both extremely uptight and completely relaxed. He spoke like he was better than everyone else. He spoke like he couldn't be bothered speaking to any person on the planet. He either spoke with a certain mocking mirth belying his good intentions or with a superior drawl that told you just how much he wanted to get rid of you. She guessed he had a neutral tone too, but she just never seemed to pick up on that.

"So, Malfoy," Rose quipped, incentivised by his stupid remark, "that means you'll be working for my mother then, won't you?"

"Yes."

"Do you think you will manage?"

"Manage how?"

"My mother is an exacting woman. Always expects people to bring their A game. Do you have that A game, Malfoy?"

Scorpius grinned, "Somehow doubt that, do you?"

"Hmmm," she pretended to think, "I don't think I've seen it before…"

"You're a smart witch. I'm sure you remember my performance in class."

Before she could formulate a comeback, he leaned towards her and added in a low voice only she could fully hear, "And elsewhere. Care to finish what you started, Rose?"

His breath was hot on her neck for a second, until he leaned back. Stephano was looking at them expectantly, Lily was visibly brimming with curiosity. Deciding that there was no way this could end well, ever, Rose exclaimed, "Okay! Lily, we have to go! Stephano, Malfoy, you'll have to excuse us. We have a family thing in the morning."

Malfoy smirked. "I thought you didn't have a curfew."

"It must have slipped Lily's mind!" She answered snippily. "Let's go. Cheers, Stephano! Malfoy."

Lily, though clearly displeased, did not push her luck and merely grumbled, "Right. Potter party. Forgot all about that."

Rose tapped her foot while Lily took her sweet time in saying goodbye to both Slytherins. Though she kept her eyes fixed on the door, she felt Malfoy's boring holes into her skull.

When Lily finally linked her arm into hers, she mumbled, "Once we get out of this bar, you tell me everything, old lady."

While walking away from the duo, Rose just managed to catch the words Stephano threw at Scorpius: "Mate, she _really_ dislikes you!" Unfortunately she was too far by the time Scorpius could reply.

" _Rose_ ," Lily stressed as soon as they were out of the door. "Was Malfoy just _flirting_ with you? Tell me everything!"

" _No_ ," Rose said quickly. "No. That's absurd."

But he was – he _was_. And the reality of Scorpius Malfoy apparently wanting to get into her knickers was one she had to deal with, whether she liked it or not.

(Though, in a way she would never admit to anyone, she did. Like it. On a purely theoretical, abstract level. Kind of. A little.)

* * *

Leave a comment if you liked it :-)

Josephine


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for the feedback, all!

* * *

 **JULY 2024 – S**

"So who do you reckon was the fittest bird of Hogwarts, in hindsight?"

It was, naturally, Cillian who introduced the topic and, naturally, he did it with a lot of spirit.

"Cillian," Scorpius said in a measured voice, "do you have any class at all?"

Stephano rolled his eyes, "I love it when you pretend to be posh, Scorpius."

"Scarlett Rosier, right?" Cillian offered, ignoring them both.

"I take that as a no," Scorpius inserted laconically.

Stephano wacked his shoulder. "She's hot, sure, but have you seen Lily Potter lately?"

"Yeah, I grant you that. Oh, speaking of which," Cillian looked like a light bulb had gone off, "her cousin – Rose?"

"Rose?" Scorpius found himself repeating, fake scepticism rolling off his tongue like it was nothing.

"Glad to have you on board," Stephano commented sarcastically at Scorpius's non-addition to the conversation. "We know you think she's a stuck-up twat – you have made that so incredibly clear in the past years – but even you can't deny she is, objectively, quite good-looking."

"I suppose." _The hottest girl I have ever seen in my life_ , was more bloody likely.

"Weren't you half-heartedly chatting her up at the Black Griffin the other day?"

"Not really," Scorpius shrugged in the most apathetic way he could. "Just riling her up a bit for my amusement."

"You're such a prick – "

"Did it work?" Cillian intercepted.

"Of course not," Stephano said pointedly. "Have you met her? She is as self-contained as they come. She was irritated at most. She couldn't care less about Scorpius."

That burned. "Why are we still talking about Rose Weasley?"

"To be fair," Cillian conceded, "she wouldn't give either of us Slytherins any time of the day. She has only dated the so-called _good blokes_."

"She is seriously not as boring as you guys are painting her to be – "

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Stephano," Scorpius put his index finger and thumb against his temple, "why don't you go for it then?" _Please do not, under any circumstances, follow up on that suggestion._ "I reiterate: why are we still talking about Rose Weasley?"

Before Stephano could argue, Cillian had already indulged Scorpius. "Okay – Lily Potter you said, Stephano?"

That seemed to appease Stephano. "She looked pretty good the other night in the Black Griffin, didn't she, Scorpius?"

"She did," he confirmed, but did she?

To his own chagrin, he could only conclude that he didn't even really know.

* * *

 **AUGUST 2024 – R**

Jimmy Goldstein had decided to take up her time.

"I haven't seen you in forever! Oh, right, the internship? Well anyway, let me update you!"

The event was not yet in full swing. Many guests had still to arrive, the bottles of wine had still to be refilled for the first time, the music had still to be turned up. Rose wondered why she hadn't adhered to the world oldest rule of arriving fashionably late at housewarmings, but alas. She was annoyingly punctual, and therefore, destined to get caught in start-up conversations she couldn't stand to get caught in.

Why had she come anyway? It's not like she knew Andrea Nott that well.

" – And of course, Millie and Aaron decided to tie the knot."

"Fascinating!"

"Aren't you invited?"

She was. "No."

"Oh," he looked crestfallen for a split second. "Weren't you friends with Millie in sixth year?"

She nodded. "I also dated Aaron for a brief month in sixth year."

Not that Millie had cared, really. Hence the invitation.

"Well, it's a shame," he declared. She braced herself for what was to come. "I might just've asked you to accompany me!"

He winked, she shuddered.

This was exactly what she'd anticipated when she'd decided to lie. The downside of that was not being able to go to the wedding, but the upside – not having to listen to her old housemate babble on incessantly – easily outweighed that. Jimmy Goldstein was not her favourite person. This had been set in stone ever since he dared to dispute her in Transfiguration not once, but exactly twenty-four times in seven years (she'd counted).

He'd been wrong on all accounts.

"Ha!" She attempted a grin and took a sip of her red wine to demonstrate her party spirit. "A shame indeed! Now, you were saying?"

"Tying the knot... But that's not important, is it? What about _you_?"

"Good. Great."

"Really?" Jimmy beamed, and then – "I heard the Ministry's reforming. My father – he works there, as you'll probably remember – told me this morning. I could probably get an internship at the Department of International Magical Corporation, finally, you know I've been trying to get that for a while now... So do you like it there?"

"Rose! Jimmy!" Someone called their names enthusiastically, effectively setting Rose free from answering the question.

Unfortunately, the other person was Elina McDonald. Also a Ravenclaw, also a self-centred.

"Elina, love," Jimmy smiled. "We were just talking about the Ministry – "

"Oh, you work there, don't you, Rose? I might start too!"

 _Merlin_ , she thought, _shut up_.

Rose generally liked people. She was no self-proclaimed misanthropist, unlike _some_. Yet more often than not she found herself wishing to Disapparate in the middle of conversation, because she found it to be so very dull. By the time Obligatory Question N°7 had come and gone, she was usually ready to tear the hair out of her skull – or better yet, that of the instigator of said Question. Why did no one ever want to discuss a possible thirteenth use of dragon's blood? Why did no one ever debate the advantages and disadvantages of the Veritaserum? Why did no one seriously address the many skills of great Witches such as Professor McGonagall without venturing off into the needlessly sensational tales of the Second Wizarding War? Did these kind of topics not fit the social decorum of small, celebratory get-togethers?

She sighed.

How did she fail to acquire the interest in gossip and chit-chat so many seemed to naturally possess? It sure would've made this particular bit of small talk a whole lot easier. Hell – it would've made her _life_ easier. The only gossip she could ever tolerate was the one coming from Lily Potter's mouth. And that was because she found Lily to be inherently amusing, always.

With a lot of strain, she refocused on Jimmy and Elina.

"Did you know Eloise got an internship too? That girl from Beauxbatons I told you about?"

"No!" Jimmy exclaimed, an incredulous look colouring his face.

" _Unfathomable_ ," Rose added drily. She couldn't remember the story about this Eloise for the life of her.

Elina continued, "Yes, mental, isn't it? I think Greengrass got one too."

Despite her annoyance at their glaring lack of listening skills, at their immediate reverting back to gossip, at their everything really, she couldn't help that her interest was finally piqued.

"Isn't that – " She cleared her throat and took another sip of wine to conceal her eagerness, "isn't that Scorpius's cousin?"

"Vicious little bitch, yeah," Elina commented. " _Such_ a Slytherin – "

"Seriously, she thrives on stabbing people in the back!" Jimmy vigorously agreed.

"Remember that time she made out with Lysander when he was _my_ boyfriend?"

"Or when she tried to copy my homework – "

" – when she told the entire school I had an STD!"

"Rather hilarious, wasn't it?" a different voice suddenly interrupted. "Really, McDonald, you'd think you'd got over her besting you in just about everything by now."

Rose's attention snapped away from Elina in an instant. She'd been so focused that she hadn't noticed the figure on her left nearing their little group at all. By the looks of Elina and Jimmy – Elina nearly spit out her drink, Jimmy had turned an unflattering shade of red – neither had they.

"Malfoy," Elina recovered and uttered his name tightly. "Fancy seeing you here."

Scorpius regarded her with one cocked eyebrow, "Yes, fancy. Andrea's only been my friend for – oh, I don't know, _eight_ _years_?"

Rose snuck a glance at his profile and immediately turned away. She couldn't seem too interested, could she? The answer, of course, was no, she couldn't. She'd rather stare into space for all eternity than have Scorpius know that she was more than even the _slightest_ _bit_ interested. Her coming off interested was about the last thing she needed. In fact, she now – gazing hard at the cupboard in front of her – deemed interest her official enemy.

She started inspecting her nails.

She wished desperately for him not to notice her. Or rather: she wished desperately for him to notice her, but not finding the nerve to talk to her as her demeanour was too intimidating.

This wish, naturally, did not come true.

"Weasley," he said in a deceptively pleasant tone, "hello. What are you doing wasting your time with these morons?"

 _Funny you should ask me that_ , she thought, _I was wondering the same thing_.

"I failed to find superior companionship," she replied haughtily, mock scanning the crowded room and then looking at him.

An outright lie.

By now several more agreeable people had arrived. She'd spotted Albus in the corner, pouring himself some spiked punch, and Stephano Zabini, last year's Head Boy. Also, because she suffered from an undiagnosed brain injury, she'd wanted to talk to _him_. But then she'd seen the slightly smug expression on his face while addressing her and resorted to their traditional and preferred type of communication: insults. No one knew how to woe a bloke like Rose Weasley.

Scorpius once again raised his eyebrow and drawled, "Cute."

"Not you, surely," she muttered.

Something was off with her social skills. Something was _painfully_ off with her social skills, in fact. She'd have to consult with Louis and possibly her parents (who were undoubtedly to blame). _Why_ , she would ask, _is it that I am nice to all the blokes I find physically unattractive but only manage verbal abuse with the ones I have recently decided I maybe, possibly, would want to shag?_

She flushed down her feelings of imbecility with the entire content of her glass. Luckily, the glass was Charmed so as to instantly bring forth a refill.

"Drinking won't make me go away, Weasley," Scorpius smirked, eyeing said glass meaningfully. "If anything, it'll replicate me and then you'll have two Scorpius's on your hands. How lovely a prospect that must be."

"I do generally manage to exercise self-restraint, _Malfoy_ ," she huffed.

Scorpius's smirk broadened considerably. "Oh, you mean like at graduation?"

She paused halfway into her movements. Had there not been some sort of silent agreement not to bring that up in an unguarded and friendly battle of wits? How was she supposed to respond to that? _I'm sorry, I stumbled and then dumbly fell down on your lips_ , or perhaps _I had a moment of temporary insanity_ , or even better, _Oh, I went blind for a good ten minutes and didn't recognise you there!_

" _What_ happened at graduation?" Jimmy inserted, before she had the chance to opt for either one of the three options.

She'd almost forgotten Jimmy and Elina were there.

"Rose here got a bit plastered, didn't she," Scorpius elaborated. At least he was kind enough to swoop in for a rescue mission for a disaster he himself was crea – "which led to very interesting results."

She hoped very, very much that he could feel the heat of the internal glare she was trying to contain, for Jimmy and Elina's sake.

"I got sick behind a bush," she lied in the least salacious tone she could muster. Then, she started waving very intensely at Albus. "Oh, there's my cousin. Speak you to later, guys!"

She swiftly left the group, without sparing the object of her lust one more look.

* * *

Not that she was able to keep that up for long.

In the hours that followed, she spared Scorpius quite a few looks. He appeared to have a very animated conversation with Stephano, her ex-boyfriend Leander Boot and Helga Edgecombe, he drank at least 2 Butterbeers and 3 glasses of wine, and he seemed to very actively avoid Madeline Bones (he probably screwed her over at some point, she could only assume). She also observed that he filled out his midnight blue sweater very, _very_ well. Not that he was overly muscular, but, just, you know, _tight_ and well-defined somehow. When he pushed up his sleeves and she actively thought that he had very nice forearms, she almost kicked herself.

How she'd spent years happily ignoring his existence and was now suddenly no longer able to keep her eyes off the wanker, she'd never understand. It was probably the platinum hair – weren't people naturally predisposed to search that out? Something about it being a sign of fitness, like a peacock's tail. Something about fair skin and hair making it easier to detect infections or conditions. Something about finding the ideal mate to create your offspring with.

Yes. She read that in a text book, once. That was definitely it.

She caught him glancing back at her a few times, though. For some inexplicable reason, her immediate reaction was always to narrow her eyes in faux irritation and turn away. But then, one time, she didn't really manage and her gaze lingered for four full seconds until her brain snapped back in action.

* * *

For a limited duration, things started to look up.

Most people had left the party (including Jimmy and Elina), and the atmosphere had become rather cosy. Some Irish lad named Eoghan, who had attended Hogwarts a few years before her and was a distant cousin of Andrea's, had taken a distinct interest in her. He turned out to be a Healer, which spoke to her immensely – it was a field she had seriously considered going into before she had settled on International Coordinations. It was also her good fortune that she had not seen Scorpius (or his Siamese twin Stephano) for the last thirty minutes, which meant she could actually concentrate on her conversation with Eoghan.

That is – until she decided she was in great need of a bathroom break.

Several things conspired to bring her where she ended up. First, there was the fact that the downstairs toilet was occupied. Therefore, she had to go to the other one in the bathroom, on the first floor. Then, there was the fact that, after she finished, she opened the bathroom door and stood face to face with Scorpius himself. Because Scorpius was in the middle of a movement to go inside the bathroom, the two came face to face in a very close proximity.

"Did you need to use the loo?" She asked.

Running his hand through his hair, he replied, "No, I just wanted to freshen up."

"Ah."

Scorpius slinked past her towards the sink, touching the side of her body with his chest. Hyperaware of every part of her arm that came into contact with it, she dumbly thought, _well, as expected, that does indeed feel pretty solid_.

He opened the tap and held both his hands under the running water. She looked at the ground for a few moments, and then came to a decision. She stepped back into the bathroom and closed the door. To his back, she muttered, "So that was a shitty move before, bringing up my little onslaught of madness at graduation."

Drying his hands very slowly, he drawled, "Onslaught of madness, huh?"

When he turned back around, things escalated rather quickly.

Clearly coming to a decision too, he righted his back and took a step towards her, holding her gaze. All those times she had mocked the way he'd stared people down were coming to haunt her now – the way he looked at her now made her both breathless and paralysed. A fluttering, hot anticipation spread through her abdomen, which only seemed exacerbated by the wine she had consumed earlier. The sense of budding excitement was undeniably appealing.

He came to a standstill only inches in front of her, fully intruding on the boundaries of her personal space. He was close enough to not only smell the vague remainders of his cologne, but also the laundry detergent in his sweater. _How many girls before me have inhaled this very scent?_ The thought washed over her before she could stop it, but the sting of it was considerably dulled by her raw want.

Before she could utter any thought out loud, he put his arm around on the back of her shoulders and pulled her even closer to him. Almost on instinct, she arched into him. His voice was hoarse when he said, "I cannot think of any single thing that would be _less_ mad, Weasley."

Then he ran his thumb over her lower lip and pressed it down softly. Bending down his head to reach her, he pressed his lips up against hers with an intensity she had foreseen but still somehow took her by surprise. They were soft, and warm, and she didn't recall at all feeling so dizzy the last time she touched them. Her heart started beating at an alarming rate, as if to snap her out of it, but it was only when he released her lips shortly – she didn't even know why – that she regained a part of her senses and exclaimed, " _What_ in Merlin's beard are you doing?"

"What does it _look_ like I'm doing," he growled, impatience tangible in his tone, his respiration irregular.

 _Don't be this girl_ , _don't be this girl_ ,she chanted in her head, _don't be the girl that Scorpius Malfoy gets to use as he pleases and then never looks at again_. _You are better than this_. But then, she really wasn't, because she shut down the protesting voice altogether and grabbed a fistful of his sweater, pulling him back towards her. He responded instantly, drawing her body impossibly close, and kissed her ferociously. Now she was prepared, and gave as good as she got until her head was spinning, and spinning, and spinning some more. When the tip of his tongue ran over her lower lip like his thumb had just done, the whirlwind intensified gloriously. A chorus of their moans filled the room when she opened her mouth and his tongue touched hers. He tasted like wine, like mint, a little bit like something she couldn't decipher – like something uniquely _him_.

His fingertips found their way underneath the fabric of her white blouse, trailing across her hip bones, causing heat to nestle inside her stomach, goose bumps to erupt on her skin, and a groan to escape from her throat. He dragged his mouth away from hers, and began leaving kisses on a road towards her collarbone. Breathing very heavily, she wanted, irrationally, immensely, to have him even closer, and pushed him towards the wall to fully lean into him. Halting her half-way, he turned her to the other direction, and hoisted her up onto the marble countertop, which brought his face flush with hers. His pupils were profoundly dilated, she saw, which stood in shrill contrast with his irises – dark pits amidst a fog circle. Searching for air too, he murmured, "I have been waiting for this for so fucking long."

"Please don't share", she panted, "this little event with an audience this time." He made a mindless sound of agreement before attacking her mouth again.

When she then proceeded to circle her legs around his waist, and he proceeded to put his right hand under her skirt, and she unbuttoned his trousers, she briefly registered that there had never been a time before in her life where she had been so unhinged. As she cried out in the nape of his neck when he sucked the spot underneath her ear, the world could have stopped turning, the earth could have ceased to exist, the universe could have exploded, but there was not a single thing that could turn away her complete and utter attention to Scorpius Malfoy and the way he made her feel at that moment. She spiralled out of control, more, and more, and more, and more, until he anchored her and she grinded to a halt.

* * *

 **AUGUST 2024 – S**

He had been on a completely innocent mission to fetch a few books Stephano had strongly recommended to him, until fate had decided to give Scorpius a lending hand and had placed Rose bloody Weasley in Flourish & Blotts too, two book racks next to his.

He couldn't believe his bloody luck.

She looked delectable as usual, auburn hair in a ponytail and curves hugged by a white shirt dress. She was accompanied by her cousin, Louis Weasley, and had halted at the literary fiction section. Their encounter of two weeks ago firmly at the forefront of his mind, he felt a strong urge to stalk up to her and kiss her as he had done back then, but because he was a civilised human being, he restrained himself and simply tried to catch her eye from afar.

Only she wasn't letting him.

 _Of course_ she wasn't letting him. While he had circled around her as many times he could without being a suspicious creep, she had not spared him one short look. On the contrary, she seemed adamant on giving all of her attention to Louis Weasley.

If Rose were anyone in Hogwarts, she'd conform to the hormone-driven etiquette of the school, being: _Scorpius Malfoy is worthy of pursuit_. But she did not. She almost seemed to pity them, all the dim-witted conformists. He acknowledged that this was something she had built an identity upon: she was not a follower. Though he was sure she did not consciously see it this way, she deemed herself too good for that. And in fact, she _was_ too good for that: she was smarter than all of the school combined. Considering this, her brushing off any public overture of blossoming camaraderie was something he could have expected.

There was something that did catch him off guard, however. Whenever he entered a book rack near hers, her laughter seemed a little bit harder than usual. Either Louis Weasley was being extraordinarily funny today, _or_ she had in fact seen Scorpius and _wanted_ him to think that she was having the time of her life. It was probably a testament to his own arrogance that he settled on the latter, but ever since their hook-up in Andrea's bathroom, he could not let go of the idea that she did not dislike him as much as she pretended to. The way she had moaned his name in his ear really _had_ suggested otherwise. Maybe she did not like him as a person, but she must at least have liked him on the most superficial level. The way her body had responded to him proved that she was attracted to him – even if it was purely physical.

The memory of the eagerness with which she had enclosed her legs around him prompted him to try one more time. He quickly asked a piece of parchment and a quill from the saleswoman – who gave it to him begrudgingly – and scribbled, as fast as he could without resorting to a nine-year-old's handwriting:

 _Weasley,_

 _Will you go hang out with me? No one has to know._

 _SM_

His sales pitch would not particularly dazzle her with its originality or eloquence, but it would have to do, because he saw that she was already leaving the shop with a new book under her arm. He swiftly muttered a spell to have the note fly towards her and settle into one of her newly bought books. If he assessed her well, she'd start reading the book today.

And indeed, some hours later, it appeared that she had.

An old Owl arrived on his window sill at 8 o'clock in the evening. He shot out of his chair – he did not recognise the Owl as being Stephano's, or Marine's, or Cillian's, which could only mean one thing. He opened the letter hastily.

 _Malfoy,_

 _That was the most prosaic proposal I ever received._

 _RW_

He took out his writing equipment. Oh, it was _on_.

 _Weasley,_

 _I apologise. I did not take you for a romance, poetic language kind of girl. Would you like me to send flowers along with that proposal?_

 _SM_

She must have been sitting at her desk too – her reply came within the half hour.

 _Malfoy,_

 _How novel – a hint of sarcasm added to the mix. I have reasons to believe that you actually do not_ want _me to say 'yes'._

 _RW_

 _0_

 _Weasley,_

 _Humour me. Saturday, for some casual badinage?_

 _SM_

 _0_

 _Malfoy,_

 _Has it ever occurred to you that your initials refer to a certain erotic practice?_

 _RW_

 _0_

 _Weasley,_

 _While S &M is not my first choice, I am willing to give it a go if you are. We could do a trial round on that Saturday I just referred to. _

_S. Malfoy_

 _0_

 _Malfoy,_

 _Thanks, but no thanks._

 _RW_

 _0_

 _Weasley,_

 _Alright. We will keep it vanilla._

 _S. Malfoy_

 _0_

 _Malfoy,_

 _The words 'conversation' and 'getting to know each other' – are they in your dictionary?_

 _RW_

 _0_

 _Weasley,_

 _I am not sure. Perhaps you could clarify them for me on Saturday? You know, that one Saturday I have mentioned multiple times so far._

 _S. Malfoy_

 _0_

 _Malfoy,_

 _I guess I can spare an hour on that particular Saturday. I do hope the witty repartee will be worth my precious time, though. Do try to dig up that self-proclaimed A game._

 _RW_

 _0_

 _Weasley,_

 _I don't know about you, but the A game is the only game I have._

 _S. Malfoy_

 _0_

 _Malfoy,_

 _Too easy. I expected better from you. 2 o'clock in the afternoon?_

 _RW_

 _0_

 _Weasley,_

 _When will you learn?_

 _And yes._

 _Sleep tight,_

 _S. Malfoy_

* * *

Leave a review! :-)

Cheers,

Josephine


	3. Chapter 3

Hi everyone,

I'm truly sorry for taking so long! Here's chapter 3, wherein Rose and Scorpius spent the day together.

 **Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter.**

* * *

 **SEPTEMBER 2024 – S/R**

Scorpius was like gum on the sole of her shoe. An inconvenience, something that happens to you even though you try your hardest to avoid it, a nuisance. A nuisance buzzing in your head. _Scorpius_ this, _Scorpius_ that, _Scorpius_ _Scorpius_ _Scorpius_ – she felt like frying her own mind because the time she had spent thinking about him and this stupid date far outweighed the amount she had designated for it in her mental calendar.

This morning, she had actually _tried on several outfits_ in front of a mirror, before settling on the one she had put on first. If he thought the loose white blouse, snug pair of dark jeans and classic black brogues were boring, then so be it. Surely he didn't go by the adage 'Less is more', but then that was his problem, not hers.

There had also been the question of her face. To make-up or not to make-up? Would he think her desperate if she showed up all done up? Would he think her sloppy and tired-looking if she went bare-faced? Luckily, her priorities had kicked in before she could seriously evaluate the question and she'd swiftly charmed on some mascara and concealer for the bags under her eyes. That was it. If she'd learned anything from her mum, it was that she was defined by her intelligence first and foremost. Then came her personality, and _then_ her appearance. She was pretty sure that inner beauty was a foreign concept to him, but oh well. Again: his problem, not hers. Never hers.

She arrived at the agreed location – three streets from Diagon Alley – 10 minutes early. Apparently a stranger to nice things like punctuality and organisation, he got there 12 minutes late. He did not even rush – he sauntered towards her like he didn't have a care in the world, clad impeccably in a grey oxford shirt and black ironed trousers.

"How nice of you to show up," she quipped, crossing her arms and swallowing down the panic that had started to bubble up (not that she cared much about this date in itself, really, but just imagine the humiliation – _did you hear that Rose Weasley got stood up by Scorpius Malfoy?_ ).

(Not that anyone knew. But still. The thought.)

"I got stuck doing some preparation for my internship."

The reply was so unapologetic that her blood started to boil in an instant.

"Right," she said through gritted teeth. "Preparing to work for my mother then."

"Yeah…"

"How do you reckon it will be?" She asked calmly. "Working for someone with an inferior blood status?"

A shadow fled over his face. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, though, and he snickered to cover it up. "Weasley, we're 2024, not 2000. Time to catch up."

This must be some sort of record. Two minutes into the conversation, and she already wanted to hex him. "Are you implying that blood purity isn't a thing anymore? Is that what it looks like from up there on your tower of privilege?"

"The only thing I'm implying is that the Malfoy family moved on. How's it looking up there from your tower of – _Where are you going_?"

She had turned on her heel and had started to walk in the other direction. Without looking over her shoulder, she said, "I can think of several nicer ways to spend my last free days!"

From the sound of his footsteps, she could tell he had run after her immediately and was approaching her quickly. This suspicion was confirmed when she felt his hand on her upper arm, halting her. "Are you kidding me?"

"I don't know why I agreed to this date in the first place," she muttered petulantly.

 _Because he is pretty smart, painfully good-looking, and not exactly bad in the sack_ – a little voice in the back of her head supplied unhelpfully. She had to restrain herself to not physically swat it away. Nothing about any of those things changed that he was a conceited wanker. And a Malfoy. And that he was late and not even the tiniest bit sorry about it.

"You know what I think?" Incomprehensibly, his expression had turned smug. Her annoyance grew tenfold.

"That the universe revolves around you?"

"You're afraid to get to know me, because you might like me too much."

"… Okay, _of course_ I was spot on."

"Come on, Rose, I challenge you," he took one hand out of his pockets and held it in front of him, palm open. "If you want to prove me wrong, just spend the day with me and see if you still want to ditch me afterwards."

She looked at the hand sceptically. Briefly, she wondered how long he would keep it there before he'd give up. "Is this a sad and transparent attempt at reverse psychology?"

"Depends," he said, hand firmly in place. "Is it working?"

She mulled it over. "Maybe. I have a suggestion though."

He raised his eyebrow expectantly.

"I propose we leave Diagon Alley for what it is today and traverse the dangerous roads of Muggle London."

His reply was quick: "Deal."

She carefully studied his face, but she found no trace of malice or distaste. In fact, he seemed completely impartial on the matter. So before she could change her mind, she set him free, meeting his hand mid-air and shaking it three times.

The fact that this was the same hand that had touched almost every inch of her body not even a month ago, was a thought she efficiently suppressed, lest it should distract her from her goal of the day: not liking Scorpius Malfoy.

* * *

Bloody hell.

Just _what_ had he gotten himself into this time? The Muggle world? If there was _one_ world where he would come across as the biggest buffoon alive, it was _that_ one. Though he did want Rose to get rid of her misconceived notion that he and his parents were still blood purists, this was not his preferred way to do that. Sure, he had nothing against Muggles, but he also didn't necessarily care for them, or for their habits. He knew absolutely nothing about them, save for the odd thing or two he managed to retain from Muggle Studies at Hogwarts. He vaguely remembered that they use something called 'smartphones' a lot, which allows for them to communicate with each other in a way that is comparable to when you enchant two notebook so you can write something in one of them and the person having the other one can see it immediately. That had seemed pretty useful to him, at the time. But that didn't mean he wanted to spend his first date with Rose Weasley in their weird universe. He'd be totally helpless and dependent solely on _her_ knowledge. Not exactly a way to impress someone.

Then again, he had no choice. As usual, she had been instantly irritated by him for no reason. As usual, he had both wanted to kiss and strangle her. Now that he knew she was actually attracted to him too, the former had won out.

"Could you at least tell me where you've Apparated us to?"

They turned around a corner. The answer to his question presented itself: a square. With a large carousel. And market stalls with seemingly greasy food. And strange little metal trains. And a row of red, flowery caravans.

Okay.

"Hm," Rose's voice sounded exactly how he felt. "It was nicer in my memory."

Taking in his rather grey surroundings, he drawled, "If this is your way of showing me how nice the Muggle world is, I regret to inform you that you have failed."

"It's a fun fair," she said, rather absent-mindedly. "My grandparents on my mum's side used to take me here when I was little."

He observed that people's gazes tended to linger longer on the two of them. He raked his brain for a reason to separate them from the others – was his wand visible? Was she wearing witches' fashion? – but he came up short. When one particular, seedy bloke gave Rose a very pronounced once-over, he realised it was because they stood out like fish on land in an entirely different way. There was not one other good-looking or well-dressed person around.

"Do you have any specific plans for us here, or do we just stand here and contemplate how thankful we should be to have the lives that we have?"

"Yes," she glowered at him. "My sole purpose of the day was to make Scorpius Malfoy feel even better about himself."

He ignored her. "What is _that_?" He pointed towards a small stall, painted in a wide array of colours.

"A psychic."

"A what now?"

"A psychic," she repeated, and looked at him like he was a school kid. "Muggles who claim to have certain extraordinary abilities, like seeing the future. Like Seers, except their abilities are not credible at all."

He asked curiously, "How do you they're not credible?"

"In the Muggle world there's something called _science_ \- "

"I know what science is, Weasley."

"All the better," she paid him no heed. "In science, the basic idea is that you provide some sort of empirical evidence for the claims you make. But psychics have never been able to provide proof for anything."

"What if they can see something the other Muggles don't? Correct me if I'm wrong, but most Muggles are convinced magic doesn't exist either."

"Well, I suppose _some_ psychics are actually Wizarding folk in disguise, and those will be credible to some extent, but the others?" She gave him a sceptical glance. "Trust me, they're a bunch of frauds."

"Well, show me then," he said, nodding towards the stall. He had to admit - the sign stating 'Our Sixth Sense has been with us from the dawn of time' in neon colours did not inspire much confidence. But he wanted to challenge her for the sake of challenging her.

"Okay," she seemed pretty sure of herself. "Let's go sponsor… _Marcia."_

Marcia, the psychic in question, had by now spotted their interest. She was sitting inside the stall, but had opened her curtains and was waving at them. She looked fairly normal, all things considered. She wore a distinct necklace, but other than that, she seemed average; blonde, with a short haircut, thick black glasses, about 40 years old. She reminded him of the witch at the newsstand in Diagon Alley.

"Come," she mouthed, and opened the wooden door for them when they arrived.

"Hi," Rose was rather curt. "We want to know our futures."

"Hello, my dear," the woman's voice sounded the way she looked. "My name is Marcia. You are both most welcome. However, I must warn you… Seeing the future is not that clear-cut or simple as your question makes it out to be. One can see several outcomes, triumphs, hardships… There is no such thing as _one_ future. There are multiple versions, each in part determined by free will."

Scorpius thought this sounded reasonable, but Rose raised an eyebrow. Before she could reply, Scorpius decided to lay on the charm. "We understand, madam Marcia."

Marcia smiled at him, warmly. "Come in." When she turned to Rose, her smile faltered a bit. "Both of you."

When they entered the stall, the interior was similar to the exterior. A wide colour scheme, with a focus on blue and purple. There was little room- a table, and two benches filled up the entire stall. When Marcia took place on the bench behind the table, Scorpius and Rose sat down on the other one. Due to lack of space, his side and thigh touched hers, which reminded him instantly of their thirsty little quest at Andrea's. The blissful memory lasted about a second, until Marcia's voice cut through it mercilessly.

"So, I would like you both to stretch out your hand. What we will do today is _palm reading._ "

"Merlin save me," Rose said, through her teeth.

Scorpius flashed his most brilliant smile. "I'm sure we will learn many fascinating things today."

Marcia, quite responsive to said smile, returned the favour. "Alright! Let's get started!" She sounded a bit like an over-excited school teacher. "Let's start with the _heart line._ " She trailed her finger over a big line from under his little finger to his tumb. "This one tells us more about your relationship."

"Right," Rose couldn't help but interject sarcastically.

" _You_ ," Marcia said, looking right at him and ignoring Rose entirely, "surely come from a big, warm-hearted family."

Straight face, he told himself. _Straight face_.

"Absolutely," he nodded.

"This will show in your future relationship," she said, gravely. "You will crave stability over passion, people that are _certain._ " At once, she turned to Rose and took her hand, somewhat more roughly. "You, on the other hand, are used to isolation. Ah, _see_ ," she pointed to another line, running from her thumb to her wrist, "this line, the head line, says something about your intellect. I'm sorry, my dear. But it _is_ rather… Limited. You see how this line is entirely straight, like an arrow? That demonstrates how your intellect is confined within the borders of… _narrow-mindedness,_ so to speak."

Rose merely stared at the woman as if she were lunacy personified.

"Anyway," Marcia coughed, uncomfortable under Rose's gaze, "let's return to your love life. It will be rather sparse, I'm afraid."

"What about me?"

Her full attention returned to him. "Ah, for you, it will be fruitful. The fact that you have learned to share, have learned to open your heart, will make it much easier for you to find and remain with your soulmate. Communication is the key here. And it's a key _you own._ "

 _Merlin save me,_ he repeated in his head.

"If I may just tell you something…" she whispered conspiratorially, leaning in. "I don't feel this very often - and I have no control over it, of course - but I could _sense_ this about you the second I saw you across the square, my boy. Your palm only confirms what I already felt."

"And what is it you felt, exactly?" Rose asked, painfully politely this time.

And then, Marcia spoke, with no hint of irony whatsoever to be detected: "His extraordinary warmth."

"You know," Rose uttered, almost as if she couldn't breathe, "I just forgot. I have a doctor's appointment. We must run!" She took some weird-looking coins out of her purse, and put them on the table. "Thanks for your time!"

She then proceeded to take his hand and drag him outside, the faint protest of Marcia in the background. As soon as they were behind the stall, Rose put her hand on her mouth and shook her head. "I mean…"

"What," he smirked, "do you not feel this… _extraordinary warmth_?"

And then, she seemed to explode in laughter, a sound loud and deep. Before he knew it, he was joining her animated movements - arms waving, thighs slapping, feet stomping - and guffawing like he had not in a while.

"Did you hear… the things she said about my intellect?" Rose puffed, crying. She sat down on the sidewalk to settle herself.

He bowed down, arms stretched and hands on his knees, trying to regain his breath. "Fuck," he puffed. "What else do you have planned for us, mad woman?"

"Food – I need food. Good food. Better than what is available here," she replied, wiping away a tear on her left cheek. From under glistening lashes, she looked up at him. "Ever heard of sushi?"

He extended his hand to help her up. "I must admit I have not."

"You, sir, are in for a culinary adventure!"

"Surely not too exotic?" He noted. "I mean - let's not branch out of your _confined mind._ "

"Today is a special day."

She took him up on his offer for assistance. In the ten seconds before the familiar, nauseating pull of Apparition moved the two of them away from their spot, he took a moment to appreciate the bright smile she granted him, which seemed to hold so much promise that it lit up everything around her too, turning the dreary colours them more vivid somehow, making him feel more alive, more free, more _there_.

* * *

She owed it to him to give it at least a go, she'd decided. She could always go back to hating him tomorrow. There was no doubt in her mind that he'd remind her of all the reasons why she disliked him in the first place very soon, but for now, he was being pleasant and she was actually enjoying herself. Fancy that.

"So what spectacle am I to expect now?"

"There's a food hall nearby," she answered, looking upwards at the sky. "I couldn't Apparate closer. I didn't know the location exactly, and of course we cannot be seen _appearing_ somewhere out of the blue."

"Let's get going then," Scorpius suggested, looking up too. "Seems like it is going to rain very soon."

And as though it was staged, it started to rain that very second. If the ominous grey colour was any indication, they were in for a good old English downpour. Scorpius touched her arm lightly, as if to prompt her into action. Dark specks had emerged on his T-shirt, which made her very happy that she actually put on something underneath her white blouse. She was self-conscious enough around him as it was.

She turned her heel and started walking in what she believed was the right direction. She'd visited this food hall years ago, with two distant Muggle cousins who'd wanted to introduce her to the wonders of international cuisine. Thankfully, the old industrial hangar loomed up at the end of the block.

"Can't we Transfigure something into an umbrella?" Scorpius muttered next to her, shielding his face from the incoming water. "Or at least use a spell to keep us dry?"

"Not worth the risk, Malfoy," Rose replied, with a pointed look at the many passers-by.

He rolled his eyes, but to his credit, he stopped complaining. He simply sped up the tempo and width of his strides, causing her to almost run along with him. Despite his best efforts, they arrived at the food hall soaked.

Rose had liked this place tremendously back then, and she found that she still liked it now. She was not the only one though; the place was packed and abuzz with chatter from its many visitors. As opposed to the fair, the people here were of great variety – tourists, fashionistas, young families and the working class all mingled together.

"I think I spot a table over there," Scorpius said, remarkably neutral for someone who probably only ate out in five star restaurants that worked exclusively with reservations and had a maître d'hôtel tending to your every need.

"Can you hold it?" She asked. "I will order something for us!"

Before he could reply, she ran off to the sushi stand. The queue was acceptable, allowing her to order quickly.

Stealing a glance at him from afar while waiting, she had to admit he looked… _normal_ , waiting there with his chin resting on his clasped hands. He had taken off his oxford shirt and was left with a casual t-shirt. She had expected him, the Wizard with the purest blood of all of Hogwarts, to be terribly out of place in this environment, like the incongruously modern kitchen her grandparents had just installed in their old, charming cottage. But if she hadn't known his shoes to be from dragon leather and his wand to reside in his pocket, he could have passed for any Muggle bloke his age. A posh, extraordinarily handsome one, but still – nothing about him suggested him to be a malapropos being, a piece of the puzzle that did not fit with the others. He did not seem apprehensive, but merely looked around him with distant interest, as though he was taking it in bit by bit. For reasons she could not articulate, it warmed her towards him. Slightly. For the first time, the idea came to her that she might have judged his character a little bit too harshly.

"The classic mixed platter!" The Japanese man who'd taken her order called out to her. She gave him the pounds she luckily had stored in her purse for emergencies. Nevertheless he looked at her strangely.

"Can't you pay by card?"

Thinking him to be rather rude, she responded curtly, "Pay by what?"

"A _card_." His face clearly told her he thought she was slow-witted.

"I – " she swallowed down her pride. She supposed he was talking about one of these financial transaction cards her grandparents and cousins sometimes used, but as she had no bank account in the Muggle world, she was a stranger to its full functionalities and workings. "I forgot it at home."

He muttered something, but took the banknotes either way and handed over her food.

 _Arsehole_ , she thought.

"That was not a very pleasant exchange," she grumbled when she sat back down, opposite of Scorpius. "He really wanted me to pay by _card_."

Scorpius looked at her blankly.

"It's literally a plastic card which Muggles use to pay," she explained, in the meantime opening the sushi box in front of her and handing him the chops. "It's linked to their bank account, where their money is stored. Like our money is stored at Gringotts."

A pained expression fled over his face, until he checked himself and managed to express a toneless: "Ah."

She was about to get annoyed once more, until she realised he was not being snotty. Instead, he was simultaneously staring at the chopsticks like he had no clue what to do with them. Come to think of it – he in fact could not know how to handle them. For a brief second, she considered mocking his predicament, but thought better of it and decided to keep the peace.

"It's like this," she said, and demonstrated how to pick up a maki.

He copied her movements and successfully ate his first ever sushi. After swallowing it, he noted, "That's… not bad. It's almost a shame to eat it though, it's quite beautifully made."

While assessing his first steps into the world of sushi, Rose couldn't help but notice the trail on his face that had been a raindrop. She imagined that she herself looked quite like the drowned cat, but Scorpius looked like no such thing. If anything, the messy hair suited him nicely.

His face looked almost feminine, she observed, his dark blond eyelashes especially long, his cheeks glabrous, his nose fine and straight as an arrow. But his jawline countered that – it was not pointed, like his father's, but defined and chiseled.

"She looks like she would have had the hardest time pronouncing Wingardium Leviosa in her first year," Scorpius said then, snapping her out of her unsettling train of thought, nodding at a girl two tables away from them. She was eating a burrito with her mouth open.

"Dear Merlin, she _does_ ," Rose couldn't help but confirm, laughter bubbling up her throat.

"And he looks like he was slapped on the wrist by Professor McGonagall one too many times," Scorpius added, referring to the boy opposite of the girl, whose eating habits were even less impressive. "I reckon he'd be a Hufflepuff."

"Do you? I'd say Slytherin. He looks mean."

"Okay, yes," Scorpius conceded, pausing to stuff shashimi into his mouth. "I'm really coming 'round to this sushi food, by the way."

"Great, isn't it? D'you see that girl over there? With the straight hair? She looks like she could be Elina McDonald's best friend."

"Even better," Scorpius smiled wickedly, " _Jimmy Goldstein's girlfriend_."

"Yes!" Rose exclaimed. " _Yes_. Merlin, I hate Jimmy so much. Every time he speaks I feel an all-overpowering need to leave the room!"

"While I feel that way about ninety percent of the people, Jimmy does have that extra quality about him that makes you want to punch him in the face."

"Not Belinda here though – "

"Belinda? I was thinking _Sophie_."

"Okay, I concur. _Sophie_. Sophie here really likes Jimmy and the way he treats her. Like a proper gentleman."

"He always goes out of his way to open doors for her. In spite of that one time when it led to a horribly awkward situation where he tripped in all of his hurry and fell flat on his already miserable face."

"Of course. On their first date, Jimmy took Sophie to the Astronomy Tower, to astound her with his elaborate knowledge on the planets."

" _Faulty_ knowledge on the planets."

"Uh, that goes without saying. Sophie doesn't notice though, because even though she too is a Ravenclaw, she was only put there by lack of other distinguishable characteristics."

"I thought that only happened to Hufflepuffs?"

"Have you always discriminated against Hufflepuff, Scorpius?"

"Yes. Why don't _you_?"

"I reserve my discriminating tendencies for Slytherins."

"How big of you to admit that discrimination is something that you do."

"For the sake of this date," Rose said, rolling her eyes, "I will let that slide."

"How gracious. Thankfully you can return to your old self in a bit when all of this is over."

" _Thankfully_ ," she repeated, and then stole his last piece of salmon.

* * *

'A bit' was turning out to be 'an entirely undefined point in the future'.

Though Rose had specifically said 'an hour' in their prior communication, this did not seem to be a very fixed timeslot. In fact, not at all did it appear she had anything better to do, judging from the way she was sauntering through Muggle London with him. After eating pie right after the sushi, she'd puffed, "I will die of indigestion. Care for a walk?" And naturally, he'd complied.

It was in the midst of the masses of Camden Lock, where they had come to a halt to sit by the canal, that she caught him by surprise by suddenly saying: "That day in the library? Leander was seeing someone else. Scarlett Rosier. I saw you right after I discovered it."

She was staring at an unspecified point in front of her when she said it, as if she didn't want him to see how she felt about what she had just shared, or perhaps how she felt about the fact that she had shared it at all, without any prodding from his side, for free. He wondered if this was her way of giving him something. Of telling him something. He couldn't determine what, though.

"Mundane, isn't it?" She continued, not giving him much space to come up with a decent reply. "You probably thought it was something earth-shattering, but instead, you get a story about something as trifle as _cheating_."

"Love is not trifle," Scorpius tried. Wasn't it? When she snorted, he added, "Or so I've been told."

"It wasn't even loveper se. I didn't _love_ him really. It was more… humiliation, I assume. I mean, bloody _Scarlett Rosier_. How convenient."

Bloody Scarlett Rosier, indeed. "Convenient is one way to put it. I think half of the blokes at school - "

"You know, I don't want to go there," she interrupted. "I'm all for free female sexual expression. If she wants to shag all those blokes, good for her! If only it weren't the bloke I was supposedly seeing…"

For a second, he thought she'd lean toward the path of self-pity, of self-doubt and self-consciousness, of _Is she really prettier than me_. He would have went with it, would have told her how he had left Scarlett Rosier hanging at Graduation in favour of her. But she steered clear of that route, and squared her shoulders instead.

" _Voilà_. Veil of this year's mystery lifted."

"I moved out of the Manor," he offered. Now it was her turn to look at him, and his turn to look away. "Got my own apartment. I had almost forgotten just _how_ stiffling the Manor could be."

"What's your mum like?"

"Oppressed," he replied without thinking. Before Rose could launch into a feminist tirade, he continued, "by the supposed unrequited love from my father. Mother is an amazing woman - " and now he said those words out loud, he realised he really meant what he was saying, " - but she needs things from my father that he can't give her."

"Like what?"

"Validation. Abundance of affection. Warmth."

"I don't know your dad, of course, but what I know _of_ him, that doesn't sound like him."

"No. But he does love her." Then, he soldiered on, "The war really did a number on him. I remember, as a young child, he had nightmares he used to discuss with my grandmother whenever they thought I hadden fallen asleep on the couch. He said some rooms in our house never failed to remind him of the time Voldemort had lived there. He said he could still," he waited for a moment, because it might be difficult for Rose to hear, "hear the screams and pleas of the people who were tortured there. Like your mother. He hadn't wanted that to happen."

He didn't know why he had said that so explicitly. His father's sins were not something he felt responsible for, and he didn't want to apologise for them - as a son, he had nothing to do with them. But it seemed very important, suddenly, that Rose would at least understand that his father was not the worst person in the world.

"I suppose not," she said, in a rather tight voice. He tried to blame her, but he couldn't. "What about you? Do you feel oppressed by your father's... lack of love?"

"No," he responded resolutely. "I _know_ he loves me a lot. Do I sometimes feel disadvantaged by his _legacy_? Yeah, I guess I do."

"Me too," she said quickly. "I know it's completely different. I realise I'm very privileged, so disadvantaged is probably not the right word."

"Hard to live up to a bunch of war heroes? Feel like whatever you do, it will never approximate a fraction of what they did for the world?"

If she wanted to hide the amazement on her face, she didn't do it fast enough. "Yes."

The truth was, in all those moments he had thought about her, this was something that had crossed his mind frequently. Her parents weren't _just_ famous, like Myron Wagtail from the Weird Sisters was famous. They were famous for literally _conquering evil_. While he felt huddled under the weight of his father's past sometimes, he could image how crushing her parents' renown must be.

"People have a hard time distinguishing my mother and I," Rose commented drily, and ironically, he thought she had never sounded less like her mother.

"People have a hard time distinguishing my father and I too," he replied.

Rose gave him a once-over. "You look like him, but you also don't. You know?"

"You also look like her," he smirked, "but you also don't."

She halted and turned to him. "You were blessed with better genes. Facially, I mean," she said casually, and touched his left jaw with the palm of her hand. It was simply mental to him how this light contact could stir up such a heavy excitement.

Then, her hand was gone and her gaze averted.

"Did you just compliment my looks?" he asked meaningfully, playing into her expectations.

"Or," she rolled her eyes, "I insulted your father's."

"My father is many things," he pointed out, "but bad-looking is not one of them."

"You are such a tiring human being."

"Am I?"

"Yes. Time to go home."

"What about a park?"

"Okay," she conceded instantly. "I guess I have enough energy to deal with you for another hour or so. Let's go."

He shook his head. "You are the worst. When will you realise how amazing I am as an indi - "

But his comment was swallowed by the spin of Apparition.

* * *

"It's weird."

She had taken him to Primrose Hill, where they were strolling through the sloping hills, along with many others who wanted to enjoy the end of the summer. The tension she had felt this morning had left her completely, and instead she was filled with contentment and a sense of brazenness, like she could ask him anything and everything.

"What's weird?"

"I went to school with you for seven years," she clarified, "and I don't know you at all. I mean, yeah, I do, a little. But I don't know much about you, you know?"

"What do you want to know?"

"Basic stuff. How do you take your coffee?"

"Black. _Obviously_."

"How boring," she commented.

"Well, it was a boring question to start with."

" _Fine_ ," she huffed. "What fact about you surprises people the most?"

"My extraordinary warmth," he answered drily.

She hit his arm, laughing hard.

"No, many things, I suppose. Because people have that many misconceptions of me, mostly related to my family. I guess they're often surprised that I don't believe in blood purity. Or that I hate my grandfather."

By now, they had arrived on top of a hill, where the park stretched out in front of them, with its lanterns and meandering pathways. Over the trees, the skyline of Muggle London presented itself, punctuated by red lights on top of the tall buildings to warn the airplanes. These had particularly piqued her interest as a child, and she could still remember her grandmother telling her everything about the flying metal elements with fake wings, and how people made sure they didn't crash into each other.

Scorpius, understand immediately that this was the highlight of the park, came to a halt. He continued his story while sitting down on the grass. "Or more trite things too. I don't like Quidditch _that_ much. I dislike the taste of Butterbeer. I can actually be a decent friend. That stuff."

It took her a while to realise that Scorpius was using magic; an anti-dirt charm, to be more precise. She'd get angry, as the park was rather busy and well-lit, but she couldn't find it in her. None of the people surrounding them seemed to pay them any mind - being too absorbed in their own late night stories of romance, friendship and family.

"I figured you are a decent friend," she said, sitting down next to him. "Stephano always speaks highly of you."

Scorpius did not react, seemed lost in thought for a moment while taking in the view. Quietly, she decided his profile was the nicest part of him. His nose seemed to be sculpted by the Greek gods.

"It's strange to think that they all have no clue about us," he spoke up. "We're there, right under their noses, and they're just oblivious to it."

"In a way, most Wizards are oblivious about Muggles too. Not to the same extent, granted. But the way they have crafted their lives without magic is truly astonishing to me. We talked about science before, as in, we talked about the concept. Yet there's so much to that that we have no clue about. Muggles can light up rooms, have invented cars, have created a ton of effective medicine… all without a wand." Somehow, she had forgotten she was talking to Malfoy. Or maybe she hadn't, and it just felt okay to share this awe with him. "Isn't that amazing?"

"It is," he conceded. "A world without magic is incomprehensible to me."

"You can't know what you don't know."

"Fair enough."

"Do you ever think… There's the Muggle world, and then there's our world. But what if there are a ton of other worlds we have no clue about? Like – one that knows that we exist, and the Muggle world exists, but we are unknowingly ignorant about them?"

"Perhaps there's a _better_ world. As in, a better version of our world," Scorpius tried. "A reflection of ours. Where we make better decisions all the time."

"A parallel universe."

"A parallel universe, yes."

It was only now that she noticed he had shifted towards her.

"Aren't you cold?" Scorpius asked, glancing meaningfully at the goosebumps on her skin. She wasn't, actually, but she couldn't tell him that, because he'd rightly attribute them to another cause. The proximity. The vague smell of cologne and laundry detergent she had inhaled before and hit her over the head now.

Figuring that fortune favours the bold, she raised her eyebrow. "Are you seriously going to kiss me now? I'd thought the big Scorpius Malfoy would use a less cliché approach than the Oh-Are-You-Cold – "

But she did not get any further, because he cut her off by, indeed, kissing her. "You are the absolute worst," he muttered with his lips against hers, corners curled upwards.

Scorpius was hardly the first bloke that had ever snogged her, but it was simply amazing to her how even the slightest touch from Scorpius seemed to awaken every nerve in her body, while kisses from others had left her mildly interested at best and cold at worst. She thought of science, and chemistry, and how this reaction could possibly be explained, until he eliminated her ability to think clearly altogether.

"Oy!" A sharp voice called, seemingly from miles away. "Get a room!"

"You know what, Rose," Scorpius said, slight grin in place. "It's a shame we didn't get to know each other sooner, isn't it?"

She smiled. "Jury's still out on that. But Malfoy?"

"Yeah?"

"Let's not – " she breathed in, "let's not tell people, okay? I want to avoid the awkward dinner table conversation."

"As you wish."

And then he flipped off the gentleman heckling them, and continued to kiss her into incoherence.

* * *

Feedback is always welcome!

Cheers,

Josephine


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter.**

* * *

 **OCTOBER 2024 – R**

She and Scorpius were having some sort of torrid affair. There really was no other way to put it, because none of her family members or friends or journalists knew how she recently started spending her Saturday evenings ("Extra courses" – "Of course"). Against his wall, on her carpet, on his couch, caught between her sheets –

Plastered against Scorpius in all kinds of delicious ways.

Thing was, if she was being really honest with herself, she sort of didn't want people to know. The official argument was the whole Weasley-Malfoy feud yada yada. Also, he worked in her mum's department.

The unofficial argument, however, was that Scorpius Malfoy just wasn't the sort of boy you smoothly introduced into your friend group. He was good-looking, yes. Rich, intelligent, driven: yes, yes, yes. But he was also the type people warned you about. Scorpius Malfoy was never someone's love of the century. Scorpius was the bloke to show you a good time after said love the century dumped you. Rose could imagine the conversation all too easily:

"He's a bad seed! He'll break your heart!" Everyone on the planet would cry out.

"No!" She'd reply, wide-eyed, gullible, "He's changed!"

Opening your heart to someone like him was the stupidest thing a smart young woman could ever do. Equivalent to provoking a Hippogriff.

And yet...

Yet there was not a rationale in the universe that could keep her heart from stopping one sunny afternoon, on their third date of the month. She was lying diagonally over the bed, with Scorpius propped up on his elbows next to her, when an extremely weird thing occurred.

She said something kind of funny, and Scorpius Malfoy smiled widely.

Not smirked. Not sort of grinned. Smiled. Slightly lopsided (in a way that wasn't actually affected), with his upper teeth fully visible. This couldn't be the first time he ever did this – he did have real friendships with people, well, some – but it was as if she'd only allowed herself to notice now. Like she'd chosen to put a fence between herself and Scorpius's entrancing facial qualities before and that fence was only torn down just now. Either way, the smile she'd managed to ignore for so long made him look human and approachable and genuine.

"Your face," she said promptly, disturbed by her own train thought.

A raised eyebrow joined The Smile. "Is a work of art indeed."

"No," she shook her head and touched his right cheek with her finger. He looked puzzled for a curt moment. "It's asymmetrical."

The smile fell from his face instantly. "What?"

"The right side of your mouth lifts up further than the left one when you smile."

"Merlin, woman," he said while swiftly Transfiguring the bed lamp into a mirror. "Must you be so callous?"

"Aren't I right, though?"

He sighed and dared to sneak a look. "You are." He looked up at her and said drily, "I feel like I've been robbed of all my future plans."

"Your blossoming modelling career for Witch Weekly ads, you mean?"

"Yes," he nodded, all faux seriousness. "You reckon I could still fool them? Never have any fun during photoshoots and just keep with the smirking?"

"Well, I've hardly ever seen you smile like this, so perhaps. But what if your clever ruse falls through?"

"I'd be the laughing stock of the entirety of Britain."

"Yeah," she smiled and patted his shoulder. "Looks like maybe you will have to actually rely on your brains to succeed in life."

"Looks like it. Bloody hell."

And then he smiled again.

He looked so cute she wanted to curl up and die. She'd been immune to his charms forever, but now it seemed she was done in for good.

* * *

 **NOVEMBER 2024 – R**

Rose was in a precarious position.

She really felt quite shitty. Her fever was running rather high, and she was tied to the couch. By some unlucky turn of fate, her body had decided to turn ill at the exact moment exactly no one was available to take care of her or replenish the potions cabinet. Her mother was at an Extremely Important convention in Brussels, not to be Owled under any circumstances, her father (and Aunt Ginny and Uncle Harry) was at an Extremely Important Quidditch tournament, also not to be Owled under any circumstances, and her brother was in school. To top off her luck, her grandparents and Louis's family were on vacation in Egypt. She'd Owl the Grangers, but it was not like _they_ had the potion she needed. She did have other family, of course, but she was afraid Uncle George wouldn't be able to resist some tomfoolery by adding a bleaching ingredient to her cure, and the others, well – the others she spent enough time trying to avoid as it was (Uncle Percy was simply _unbearable_ ).

A precarious situation indeed.

It was only when she'd struck out all her other options that she dared to consider Scorpius.

He wasn't really the _caring_ type, now was he? She'd heard the stories in Hogwarts, and none of them were very comforting on that front. Scorpius was hardly one to bring you chicken soup or throw a warm blanket over you. Stephano was really much more like that. In fact – couldn't she Owl _him_? Surely _he_ 'd tend to her and give her the potion with care, right?

She mulled over this for a moment, until she realised two things: first, Stephano and Scorpius were practically joined at the hip, which meant that if she Owled Stephano, Scorpius was likely to read her message too, and second, if Scorpius read that message, he might be upset because she wasn't Owling _him_. Would he expect her to Owl him instead? Was their relationship of that kind now? The kind that implied obligatory communicating about one's well-being and subsequent looking after?

She groaned.

She picked apart this dilemma for more than half an hour. Then she started to feel her fever rise even higher and decided to Owl Scorpius against her better judgment. She did it quickly and sloppily, to refrain herself from changing her mind.

She was certain he wouldn't show up.

Except he did, twenty-three minutes later.

"Weasley," he said, stumbling out of the fireplace and dusting off his robe. "You look a fright."

 _Oh dear_.

She needed to gather her wits for a moment. There he was, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy, standing in the middle of her living room, white hair tousled and face flustered from Flooing. Her heart stopped at the sight, until her brain caught up and commanded it to start beating again. Then her brain snapped off for the second time, and her mouth started babbling without her consent.

"I couldn't take the broom, because it's freezing outside, and I also couldn't Floo, because that makes me nauseous, and the same goes for Apparition – So, I mean, that's why I Owled you, and – "

"It's _fine_ , Weasley," he cut her off, looking at her with something akin to... _worry_?

This was weird.

He took a potion vial out of his bag and handed it to her. "This should help with the fever."

"Thanks."

Rose suddenly felt very, very awkward. She realised that lately, whenever she had met up with Scorpius, there was not much conversation involved. At least not from the beginning. In the beginning, there was always the intense, feverous hook-up. After, they did talk, loosened, mellowed, naked. Usually, it was not like this. Nothing could lead up to anything, because she was simply not well enough (and she was also pretty sure she didn't _look_ the part today). It made her feel shy, somehow. Their date in September already seemed like some time ago.

"You don't have to stay," she said. She drank the content of the vial in one go to underline the completion of his assignment. Predictably, it was horrid.

He must have misinterpreted the message, because instead of leaving, he sat down on the other end of the couch. "And miss out on the opportunity of a Rose Weasley on half speed?" He pretended to think, and then drawled, "You know what – we should do a library quiz or something."

"First of all: it says a lot about you that you don't dare to take up the challenge when I'm at full speed – " He was not impressed by this snipe, by the looks of his elevated eyebrow. " – and second of all: shouldn't you be doing more interesting things, like Lydia? Or Stella. Or whomever."

It was only now that it flew out of her mouth, that she realised how much this thing had been nagging at her. She had no contract of exclusivity with Scorpius whatsoever. He never promised her anything. As such, he was free to do as he pleased. Lately, it had started to whirl around her mind that she just really wanted to know if dating other people was indeed what he pleased and what he in fact _did_.

"Lydia and Stella?" He asked after a pregnant pause, a smirk playing on his lips. She could tell he was laughing at her loudly, on the inside.

"Or whomever."

"Right."

"I was just saying some random names."

"Right."

She glared at him, but the transmission of the underlying message failed as it was interrupted by an inelegant sneeze.

"I'm seeing Barbara later today," he noted casually, "but now I'm all yours."

She didn't want to, but feeling somewhat deflated, she took the bait, "Who's Barbara?"

"My House Elf. _Paid_ House Elf. No need to get your knickers in a bunch."

She threw a pillow at him. To cover up her faux pas, she snidely replied, "My my, Malfoy, I knew you were of the adventurous type, but that really is pushing boundaries."

"Cheers for that disturbing image," he saluted her. "Seriously though, how many women do you think I am sleeping with?"

To be honest, she had not dared to consider the question in terms of quantities. "I don't know. Two. Three."

"Weasley," he frowned, "just how much stamina do you think I _have_?"

"Well," she shrugged, and then proceed to shoot herself in the foot. "It's not like I am available now, so."

He smirked. "That's okay. It gives me some time to regain strength." As an afterthought, he added, "Besides, the potion I gave you will heal you in a day."

Her stomach did a somersault. Even though what he said was not remotely romantic or did not refer to anything but their shared physical needs, he had so much as confirmed he was not with anyone else in parallel. The thought that he was only seeing her, and she was only seeing him, made her lightheaded and inexplicably happy for a moment.

"So if you are not dating Lydia and Stella on the sly, we just might have to call each other by first name," she suggested.

"I accept that proposal," he said. "Unless you are dating Bob and Johnny on the sly. Then I shall refrain from calling you anything."

She laughed. "Don't worry. It's not Bob and Johnny. It's Stephano and Cillian."

He threw the pillow back at her, right in her face.

* * *

 **NOVERMBER 2024 – S**

He needed to get his head checked.

This level of obsession for another person was unhealthy, and frankly, a little bit disturbing. He wanted to spend every second of every day in Rose's bed. He liked his internship, and he liked his friends, but every moment he was not with Rose, he found himself wishing that he was. He craved her presence relentlessly. And then, when he was there with her, all his defences crumbled.

Like now.

"Don't go," she purred, her tongue dangerously close to his earlobe.

"I promised Stephano I'd go out with him," he said, eyes fixed on the wall in front of him. He reached for his shirt. "I have to."

As Stephano had just yesterday indicated through snide remarks that he missed his best friend's company, Scorpius tried very, very hard not to let her get to him. But then, one of her hands took the shirt from him. And the other hand crawled down his chest and opened the top button of his trousers. As if this wasn't bad enough, she put her lips on neck, and sucked on it gently.

His blood pressure skyrocketed, his eyes dilated, and his nervous system electrified. When he turned around and saw that she had put on his shirt without buttoning up, all reason left him and the only instinct he had was to face her again and push her backwards. Stephano was forgotten in an instant. Stephano did not exist on this island of two. Stephano was in another universe altogether.

"Playing a game, are we," he groaned. Now that she was lying flat on her back, the shirt had fallen open on one side, exposing her breast. Her cheeks were tinged red.

"Yes," she said huskily. "Are you joining?"

And because his condition was severely pathological, he kissed her savagely, and thought, _yes, yes, yes_.

* * *

 **DECEMBER 2024**

"I am going to buy this book…"

"Oh, which one? Did you see something new in Flourish and Botts?"

"Yes. It's an extraordinarily useful one. It's called _An Affair with Rose Weasley_."

"… Aha. I see. Surely its subtitle is _The Journey Through the Happiest Days of Your Life_?"

"Not quite. It was something in the realm of _Navigating Through Stormy Waters_."

"Ha ha ha – _mmpfff_ – don't think for a second – _mmmmmmpfff_ – that snogging me will cover up your failed attempt at comedy there – _mmpff_ –"

* * *

 **DECEMBER 2024 – R**

He sat on the end of the bed, his bare back towards her. He was busy putting on his socks when she asked, "Busy week then?"

He turned his head, "What?"

"When will I see you again?"

"What about the 24th?"

"Granger family. Christmas Day is the Weasley family. We usually sleep over."

"The 26th is impossible. Malfoy family dinner. Not sleeping over, thankfully, but Mother usually requires my company after an evening with her in-laws."

She made a face at that. "Festive."

"Most certainly," he muttered, grabbing his shirt and buttoning it up. "I can't wait to hear what Grandfather's annual diatribe has in store for us."

"Something about Mudbloods, perhaps?"

"Perhaps. Or about those bloody werewolves, with all their bloody undeserved rights, thanks to Hermione bloody Granger."

"What about those lenient justice reforms, also thanks to Hermione bloody Granger?"

"Oh, yes, definitely those," he groaned. He stood, then, fully clothed and straight. "So, anyway, the 27th? I can't do the 28th because Marine forced a promise out of me to spend the day with her."

"Can't do. Louis forced a promise out of _me_ to join him for a Delacour dinner. Also, the 29th I have a work thing."

By now she was counting.

Seven days without Scorpius.

"New Years Eve is impossible, of course, with me co-hosting Stephano's party and you attending Lily's."

She lit up at that, "Oh, but I could swing by, couldn't I?"

"Rose," he said with some emphasis, "that'd be fucking _weird_. The place will be swarming with snobs and Slytherins you never had any contact with in Hogwarts."

An unfathomable hurt started clogging up her throat. She gazed down at her hands because she didn't want him to see it. She covered it up with a casual, snide "Oh, you mean people like you?"

He crossed his arms and smirked, "Exactly. Except you're not shagging them, which is sort of a key factor to the non-weirdness in our relationship."

She felt a distinct urge to hex him, suddenly, but it was fleeting. He didn't mean it in a bad way. And even if he did – what hold did she have over him? How much more than shagging was a relationship that no one even knew about? They were each other's dirty secrets, really. There was no going around that.

Except.

Except that's not what she genuinely wanted, was it?

 _Scorpius_ , she wanted to say (no, she didn't want to _say_ – she wanted to _yell_ ), _this sucks_. _Why are we not in a proper relationship? Why do we not introduce each other to each other's families and spend our holidays divided between them?_ But instantly, she knew he could not know this. And that maybe she preferred for him not to know this, because was she really ready for that?

So instead, she swallowed and plastered on a smile. Brightly, she said, "Well, you know what they say."

"What?"

"Distance makes the heart grow fonder."

He looked at her, then. Really looked at her. There was something in his eyes she couldn't read, though, and she felt like she couldn't ask either. It made her strangely melancholic – the thought she'd enter into a new year without him celebrating by her side, a place where he'd permanently resided in these past few months. She tried to chalk it up to infatuation, but then it occurred to her that it couldn't be that silly.

Rather, there seemed to be too big of a divide between this world and the real world – Scorpius was a Big Thing in her life that would never align with all the other Big Things. Christmas. New Years Eve. Family birthdays. Rose, on one side; Scorpius, on the other. It was... It was a bit disheartening.

When she willed herself to grin – grimace, more like – and say, more for her own sake than for his, "Not that a week is long anyway, so let's not get stupid about this", Scorpius's undefinable expression didn't let up. He opened his mouth to speak, but he paused for a second, and then decided to close the gap between them and kiss her instead.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter.**

* * *

 **DECEMBER/JANUARY – S**

He came close to telling Stephano exactly fourteen times that New Years Eve. The worst moment was when, six Firewhiskeys in, Cillian had embraced him sloppily and shouted, "Why haven't you pulled a bird today?"

"Always the subtle and sophisticated one," Stephano had said, rolling his eyes at Cillian and pulling him away from Scorpius. Cillian pushed Stephano lightly, but his attention drifted immediately when Scarlet Rosier called him from afar. He mumbled a vague "See you, lads!" and ran off again.

"Good riddance. He has flied from the pleasantly drunk right to the bumbling idiot stage," Stephano noted drily. "Now - seriously, why _haven't_ you pulled a bird?"

 _Because there's only one bird I want._ "No one to my fancy really," Scorpius replied, haughtily.

"It almost seems as though you're no longer a free man, Scorpius," Stephano remarked cleverly.

 _Yes,_ Scorpius wanted to say, out loud. _Remember Rose Weasley?_

Would it be so bad to tell his best friend, really? Stephano liked Rose. Rose liked Stephano. But then he remembered Rose had been the one to request the secrecy in the first place, and it wasn't up to him to break his promise under the guise of drunkenness. Also, he trusted Stephano, but you never know - someone could hear them, it'd get out, his mother-in-law would get scolded for it, his family would throw a fit, the press would start following them… It'd just be one big shit show, in conclusion.

"Absolutely not," Scorpius lied. "If it is your heart's desire that I prove this to you, I _will_ snog one of these girls tonight."

"Really," Stephano crossed his arms and looked at him shrewdly.

"What about Scarlet?"

"Sure," Stephano's expression remained.

"But," Scorpius patted Stephano's back, "only if this is your fondest wish."

"It's fine," Stephano smirked. "I will survive without you snogging Scarlet. Honestly."

Scorpius laughed, but it felt fake.

Whether he felt sick due to the abundance of drinks or due to his idiotic behaviour, he couldn't tell. What he could tell, though, is that he would've much preferred to be with Rose on this day and not with this lot. Much preferred. In fact, standing here, watching all the familiar faces around him, screwed into ugly expressions thanks to the booze, he'd give all his mountains of gold to eliminate them all from his line of vision, and to see her instead, dancing, laughing, saluting him, winking at him. He'd walk up to her, and he'd say, wearing his heart on his sleeve, "You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen." She'd pretend to vomit, but she'd kiss him anyway, and he'd get that sensation he always gets when he's with her - the sensation of being completely and truly alive, with a thumping heart and uneven breathing.

Alas, when he pressed his eyes closed and opened them again, everyone was still there, as they were, as they always had been, and probably always would be.

* * *

 **JANUARY 2025 – R**

It was a little creepy, but she couldn't seem to stop staring.

He was sitting at the other end of the breakfast table, completely immersed in the Daily Prophet, tsk-ing every once in a while at the opinions in the comment section, stirring his coffee absentmindedly. The tableau looked painstakingly banal. So like a regular Friday morning for a regular couple. So unlike _them_ , basically.

But was it really?

What was it that was so unorthodox about them, all the secrecy aside?

There was a lot she loved about the bloke in front of her, after all.

She loved when Scorpius ranted about other people's stupidity, because she related to that. She loved when he proved her wrong, because aside from her mother and her supervisor, she knew very few people who managed that. She loved when _she_ got to prove _him_ wrong, because even though he never tried to show it, she knew she elicited the same admiration. She loved when he prodded her into thinking more creatively, because sometimes that was what she needed to get over a roadblock. She loved when she started quoting a famous historian and he quoted it right back.

She also loved that his eyes lit up when she helped him solve a complex question. She loved the way he smiled at her, fully, every once in a week. She loved how he gripped the back of her head when passion overruled him. She loved the care with which he made tea. She loved that he begrudgingly showed respect for her mother's politics. She loved the way he brushed his fingertips over her back, causing her to melt into the mattress. She loved the times when he talked like he had eaten a thesaurus. She loved how he could sometimes laugh like he wouldn't be able to stop no matter what, even though it was usually at her expense. She loved how human he seemed, those sleepy moments after shagging her through the cupboard, hair sticking out everywhere.

It would follow, then, that she just loved _him_. As in, Scorpius in total. Not merely the parts of him. That swooping realisation should have made her anxious, but it didn't. It really didn't. She swore to keep her painfully intense feelings to herself, but that was more for his benefit than hers.

Truthfully, she didn't want to scare the fickle womaniser away.

"Rose. You're staring and you look like your brain is about to explode."

Also, there were times and places for revelations such as these.

"Scorpius," she replied. "My brain, as opposed to _someone else's_ , is well-equipped to handle heavy activity. No danger for explosion here."

This was no such time or place.

* * *

 **FEBRUARY 2025**

"So how'd you feel about the seventh chapter then?"

"Bathilda was _clearly_ losing it around that time."

" _What_? Are you messing about? She's _right_ on the nose, seeing as –"

"Save it, Rose. Whatever your logic is, it'll undoubtedly be flawed."

"Bathilda Bagshot was one of the most impressive historians we ever – "

"Doesn't mean she didn't go mental in the end."

"Now whose logic is fla – stop it – _stop_ – _mmmpffft_ – kissing won't get you – _mmmppfttt_ – "

* * *

 **FEBRUARY 2025 – S**

"And so I told him he was being a right wanker – "

Lysander Scamander was in for a particularly gruesome death. Something with limbs amputated, eyes torn out of their sockets, necks wrung by bare hands, torsos quartered and veins slowly drained. A clean and straightforward Avada would be wasted on the likes of him, after all.

"Which, as you can image, did not go over very well – "

Because where did the bastard get off thinking he could stand so bloody close to her? He was most decidedly invading her personal space, what with the mere distance of seventeen inches between them. Had he never learned such physical proximity makes people psychologically uncomfortable? Since the pair of them were not stuck in an elevator, train or Diagon Alley on a Saturday afternoon, social etiquette dictated they stand at least a good two feet away from each other.

"Poncy gits such as Goldstein usually don't fancy getting pushed off their self-polished pedestal – "

Then again, Lysander Scamander was the son of that crazy lady who attended Phoenix Day every year, Luna or something to that effect. She might've been a war heroine, but her socials skills did leave a lot to be desired. It was quite doubtful she'd manage to transfer any manners to her –

" _Scorpius_."

" _What_?"

"I have been dissing Goldstein for the last five minutes and you've yet to participate. _What is up with you?_ "

"Perhaps I've outgrown such petty activities?"

"I haven't heard a worse lie in my life. And that's saying a lot, as I once dated a Gryffindor who was shagging a Hufflepuff on the sly."

"Word of friendly advice? Never, ever bring that up again. I considered severing our ties back then – I'm not unwilling to entertain those ideas once more. "

"Those threats would carry a little more weight if you had more than two or three friends."

"What a pathetic attempt to – "

 _That cretin!_ Did his hand just brush her shoulder? Did his smile just grow a yard too wide? Did he – did he just _kiss her hand?_

"Pardon me," Scorpius said abruptly. "I need to say hello to my gazillion other friends."

Marine Greengrass, his favourite niece, cocked her head in deep scepticism. "I think we just covered that you have no – "

" _Farewell_."

And with that final word, he stalked off to execute his perfectly planned murder. Scamander and Rose were on the other side of the ball room, and his feelings gained momentum by every step he took. Kissing her hand, indeed!

Though, he realised with great annoyance, he technically wasn't allowed to shame Scamander in public. He technically wasn't allowed to whisk Rose away from any suitor. He technically wasn't allowed to do shit. That frustrating thought lessened the determination in his stride, and when he finally got to the pair of them, he figured he looked more unsettled than furious. Something Scamander confirmed when his stance remained completely relaxed when he spotted Scorpius.

"Good evening, Malfoy. How are you?" he smiled, like there was not a single alarm bell going off in his head. He even held out his hand.

Scorpius shook it, with only a smidge too much force. So the git _did_ have manners. He just chose not to use them while trying to get under Rose Weasley's – _his_ _girlfriend's_ – skirt. He should've just dated a less eligible Witch.

(Only he couldn't really mean that, because he was simply too addicted to the sight of her as she was. It was hindering, almost, how much awe her looks inspired in him. Especially when her hair was done up and her shoulders were bare, as they were tonight. Details like these had the power to actually _physically nauseate_ him. A fact which, of course, only nauseated him further. Wasn't he supposed to be over this pathetic phase by now?)

"Scamander," he nodded, schooling his features in order and attempting to settle the idiotic feeling in his stomach. "Weasley. Do you mind if I steal five minutes of your time?" At noticing Scamander's ugly, questioning face, he added, "Ministry business."

Thank Merlin Scamander worked for that idiotic magazine – The Quizzer? The Quitter? Ah, yes, The Quibbler – and not the institute every bloody Wizard in the country seemed to work for.

"Sure," Rose said, a slight smile playing on her lips. "Lysander, I'll see you later. I simply _must_ hear the rest of that fascinating anecdote."

"Of course, Thorn," Scamander winked.

He tried, but there was not enough strength in the universe to keep his eyebrow from rising upwards at that. Thorn? _Thorn_?

Rose, instantly catching up on his disbelief, gestured for him to follow her out the room. The second Scamander was out of earshot – which was pretty fast, considering Scorpius had taken it upon himself to cast a wandless Muffliato – she copied his expression and said, very clearly, "Don't."

" _Thorn_?" He nonetheless couldn't help but snicker. "As in: roses have thorns, you're a cutting person, and based on that info Scamander decided to grant you a highly original, metaphorical and witty nickname?"

"You're asking questions you already know the answers to," she responded snootily, nose in the air.

"It was a rhetorical choice, _Rose_ , and one that should drive home my point perfectly," he drawled, "which is, of course, that you ought to get yourself checked if you're willingly conversing with people who call you _Thorn_."

"His lacking creativity doesn't constitute his entire being, Scorpius. It's one flaw in a sea of virtues."

Scorpius narrowed his eyes. They had just crossed into a small powdering room and he was sure nobody had followed them, which was good, because he was about to get really annoyed. And judging from Rose's little quip, she already knew what it was about.

"Jeaslousy – _Colloportus_! – doesn't become you."

The door clicked shut.

"Now I know you ought to get yourself checked," he tried for dry sarcasm, "because _everything_ becomes me."

Her eyes hit the roof.

"What do you want me to do?" She asked, crossing her arms. "Stay away from the other sex completely?"

"Now that you mention it..."

"It's not like I can spend the evening with you instead!" Then, quickly, "Lysander is a _friend_."

"Rose, he's not even _trying_ to hide how much he wants to shag you."

She looked at him like he was a particularly easy Arithmancy exercise. Like she had him all figured out before even blinking. It was a look she reserved for people she deemed stupid, like their ex-classmates at Hogwarts or some of her co-workers today. It was a look he took great offense to.

"Lysander's completely unattractive to me," she sighed, leaning against the wall. Her voice was not raised, her expressions were only mildly irritated, but he still wondered whether he was sucking her already rather small pool of patience dry with his commentary. Her tone, though reasonable, suggested she had better things to do with her time than convince him of such trifle matters as Lysander's level of attractiveness. Like this type of discussion was beneath her. Like his _insecurities_ were beneath her.

"I know," he muttered, failing to feel relieved at her dig at Lysander and instead swallowing down bile of discomfort. "He's just all over you and everyone in the room can think you belong to _him_."

"First of all, I don't belong to anyone. The phrase 'I belong to you' lost its romantic sparkle somewhere circa 1880."

"That's not the – "

" _Second of all_ , let them think that! What's it to you?"

"Nothing."

Well, it was everything. But he wasn't going to point out his wounds _and_ hand her the salt shaker. These days he was barely holding on to his pride as it was. Exhibit A: this very moment.

"That's what I thought," she nodded, with an air of great finality.

He didn't respond well to that, however. A renewed vexation surged through him when he thought of the reason he was in this in the first place. "He still doesn't get to just fucking touch you, Rose. Why do you let him? I don't want to see his dirty pawns all over your body from across the room!"

"Malfoy," she deadpanned, like a teacher nonchalantly slapping a student on the wrist, "don't be a baby."

And then she proceeded to close the door behind her and spend the rest of the night cheerfully chatting up both Lysander Scamander _and_ his brother.

* * *

 **MARCH 2025 – R**

It might not have been the best idea, but she decided to bring up the topic at the very last moment. She had been fidgety and anxious to talk to him all evening, but he had been so tired and distracted that she had procrastinated.

"So," she declared, when he stood in front of her fireplace with Floo powder in his hand, one foot forward, "I have an internship of five months."

"You already have an internship of a year," he said, somewhat impatiently. He threw a look at the fireplace to drive the point home.

"It's abroad," she said quickly, to get it over with. She felt inexplicably nervous. "It's in Bordeaux."

That made him pause. He turned back to her and dropped the Floo powder back in vase on the mantelpiece. Crossing his arms, he drawled, "Five months. In France. Huh."

"Yes." Because she couldn't read him, she started babbling. "It's really exciting. Relations between France and Great-Britain have been quite tumultuous lately, as you know, and I would be part of a delegation to improve the situation. We have already prepared some commercial treaties to help intertwine our economies, and some of my most senior colleagues will be joining as well."

Snapping out of his surprise, he nodded. "That sounds like an opportunity you should definitely take."

 _Come with me_ , she said, in her head. She had spoken the words a thousand times in preparation of this conversation. Out loud, to herself, in her bed. If he showed that he cared, that he did not want to be away from her, she'd say it to him too. _Come with me, Scorpius_. Again, and again. _The thought of not seeing you for weeks in a row makes me profoundly unhappy. Let's be real. Fuck everybody else. I want to be with you, here and in France._

But Scorpius did not appear to be upset. He seemed pretty okay with the idea, actually. Or at least, he put his hand back into the vase to retrieve the Floo powder, and reiterated in a neutral tone, with a neutral expression, "Really, sounds good for your career. Is it okay if we talk about it later, though? My mother is waiting for me."

"Sure, no problem." She smiled so brightly her cheeks hurt. Then, because she had no idea what in Merlin's name she was even saying, she exclaimed, "It's nice that you are being so supportive!"

"Of course. I'll Owl you later." He kissed her forehead in goodbye. "Congratulations, Rose. You deserve it."

He disappeared into the flames.

 _You are being irrational_ , she told herself while pressing her palms against her closed eyes. _You will not cry._

And she complied. Doing what any reasonable person would do, she took out the bottle of Bordeaux wine out of her refrigerator she had impulsively bought to celebrate in case he would have said yes. Then she Owled Louis, determined to salvage the unsalvageable.

Damn her non-relationship. Damn it to hell.

* * *

 **MARCH 2025 – S**

It had been a shit day, and it was not getting any better.

He had this colleague – her name was Marion Jones – and she was not improving the quality of his life. In fact, what she was a hiccup to his life's master plan. An obstruction, a roadblock.

Though Scorpius had always had the general idea that he wanted to work in law enforcement, he had only recently begun to see what exactly it was he wanted to do there. Under Mrs Granger's rule, the Wizengamot had become fairer, and more elaborate. The practice of having a spokesperson with legal knowledge present to defend the accused was becoming more and more common. Scorpius had found that this job of being a spokesperson was what appealed to him most: carefully constructing the argument, anticipating the counterarguments, using rhetoric to persuade – it was right up his alley. It was the ideal intellectual pursuit.

However, despite the increased usage, the positions were rather scarce. Therefore, he had slowly wormed his way into the right network of colleagues. He had put in endless hours and hours of extra work. He had helped built and save other colleagues' cases. He had even gone as far as make other people's coffee for them.

Unfortunately, there was Roadblock Marion. Marion was a few years older than him, and a few levels less intelligent. She too had her eye on the prize, and was competing with him every step of the way – she had been a Slytherin as well, back in the day. She too put in the hours. She too provided people with their coffee. She, more so than him, knew the right people.

She, more so than him, was shagging her direct superior.

The fact that it was a monstrous cliché did not make it less dangerous. His first reaction had been a naïve and insufficient one: he had snorted. To be complete, he had snorted, he then had raised an eyebrow, and after that he had uttered the words "How declassé". The news had travelled to him via the classic ways of Ministry gossip at the coffee café, and while it had alarmed him to some degree, he clearly had not thought _enough_ of it. If everyone was aware, surely she could not be promoted without her _inamorato_ losing face. He did not hesitate to recount the story to everyone he knew.

The error in this judgement became crystal clear to him when Marion was handed a vitally important, challenging and interesting assignment, and he was not.

Instead, he had filed papers all day.

To get some solace, he had Apparated straight to Rose's after work. While it would have been better not to see any person with his current mood, he had wanted to talk strategy with her. He'd cocked up one he was pleased enough with on his walk through the corridors, and he had been sure she would agree.

That had been another miscalculation.

"You don't know if she really got what she got because she's shagging McLaggen," Rose said.

He rolled his eyes. "Why else would you suggest she got it?"

"Competence?"

"She's a dumb cow, Rose," Scorpius snapped, throwing all nuance and diplomacy overboard.

"Is she really? Or are you just being judgmental because she is sleeping with someone who happens to be her boss?"

"Are we really going to debate the ethical implications of this choice _as if they are not incredibly obvious_?"

"I'm not saying she's not doing something somewhat… dubious, but I have met Marion before, and she seems quite smart to me, honestly. Maybe they just gave her the assignment because they believe she'll do well with it?"

"She won't. She'll fuck it up within ten minutes. I could put my clock on it."

"Or maybe they want to give her an opportunity to prove critics wrong. She's been there for three years, hasn't she?"

"Sure, Rose. They give her this huge, important assignment to _prove her critics wrong_. This is not one of those fucking inspirational books your aunt reads –"

"I am just trying to find a less cynical and crude explanation as to why – "

"What bloody world do you – "

"Look, Scorpius," Rose sounded tired and irritable. "Regardless. Your idea to actively sabotage her is not the way to go about it."

Scorpius, who was utterly convinced that this was the _only_ way to go about it, growled, "I tried it the other way – the honest way. I worked better than she did. And I still lost!"

"What I suggest you do," she pretended not to hear him, "is go talk to my mother and explain the situation to her."

He looked at her blankly. "Your mother."

"She is the Head of Department. Explain to her that you are worried about your chances, that you are not sure what else to do. Ask her how you can improve." Anticipating his resistance, she added, "I will tell her that Marion's sleeping with McLaggen. She already hates McLaggen, so if Marion gets a position and you don't, she will put a stop to it."

"That won't work, Rose. She probably already knows. I can't risk my future on your mother's – let's be frank – unpredictable actions."

Rose had always out-graded him in school. His father, upon hearing this news year after year, had simply drawled, "Of course." Scorpius had reacted defensively, wounded in this pride: "It's just that she cares much more." But in retrospect, he had known that to be a lie already back then: the girl was bloody smart, is what she was, and always would be. Her mind worked logically, smoothly, effortlessly. It was her tool; a weapon she could wield to turn a situation her way. He had always felt that he had that ability as well, but sometimes he could only look at her awe and ask himself if there was one thing in the world that she could not do well. Ask himself if he would ever reach half of what she could reach.

While that awe was inspiring, and was really the reason why he was so taken by her in the first place, it was… it was starting to wear him down, a little. So when she gave him a sceptical look and noted, "I maintain that your plan is an idiotic one and you should follow mine, Scorpius", he felt fatigue and annoyance seep into his bones, and mirrored her expression.

"This might be a strange idea for you to conceptualise," he bit out, "but I am capable of weighing several options against each other and then deciding on the one I consider to be the most advantageous. Surely my choice will not be as well considered as yours, but I _can_ think things through _ever so often_."

Visibly taken aback by his cold tone, she seemed to dial back on her attitude. "I know, Scorpius – I don't doubt that." But then, when she continued, he realised he had read her wrong: " _In general_. But for this specific case, I don't think you did consider your options very well, to be honest."

Though he was very familiar with the feeling of irritation and was frequently on the verge of anger, he did not often get so far as to lash out. He considered it an ultimate form of self-control, a personal triumph whenever he managed to keep his temper under wraps. In fact, staying calm had proven to be more effective strategy in conflict on multiple occasions – the low and dark quality in his voice was usually enough for people to pick up where they stood. Raising it was seldom necessary to get his point across. The only thing it got across was that they had gotten under his skin, and that was the one message he never wanted to send.

But looking at Rose now, with her defiant stance and slightly tinged face and _raised eyebrow_ , he couldn't help the incredible anger that surged through him, and he knew, he knew for sure, that if she would say just one other patronising word to him, he would lose it. He would start yelling, and yelling, and yelling, and she would realise, finally, that he was not as in control as he always seemed to be, and he might lose whichever edge he fancied himself to have over her: she would learn that she got to him more than anyone else on the planet. That he could not keep his cool with her even if he wanted to. That, basically, when it came down to it, _he_ _valued her opinion more than she valued his_. And so, he did the only thing he could at that moment and headed for her fireplace.

"Cheers, Rose. I will take that assessment under advisement," he spat sarcastically, while grabbing a handful of the Floo powder. "But in this very moment I have better shit to do. See you later."

And with that, he was gone.

* * *

Thanks for reading!  
Josephinee


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